Awkward Conversations
by CJaxa
Summary: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes discuss their upcoming marriage with their employers, friends, and downstairs family. Chelsie. T Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have not written fan fiction in over ten years. I do ask for words of improvement as well as encouragement if you can spare the time. Thank you to all the fanfic writers who share their talents especially in the Downton Abbey universe and the Chelsie fandom in particular-you all have given me courage to do this. I love Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and hope I do them justice.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. ITV, Fellowes, Logan, Carter, et al get the credit. I'm just fan-girling in fanfic form.**

 **Breaking the News**

Lord Grantham sat at his desk quite perplexed. He wasn't sure he heard Mr. Carson correctly. "You're engaged to be married?"

"Yes, my lord."

"To Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, my lord."

Lord Grantham stood and shook his head. "I have to say, Carson, I'm flabbergasted."

Mr. Carson gripped his hands behind his back and looked down. "I understand this may come as a surprise, my lord."

"Surprise? Carson this is astonishing. I don't even know where to start." Lord Grantham wandered to the windows. He looked out at the landscape; the dynasty of Downton Abbey facing another crisis—his butler is marrying his housekeeper.

Mr. Carson moved to the middle of the library and cleared his throat. He was resolute in his course to see this through. Mrs. Hughes was upstairs with her ladyship having the very same conversation. If she could weather the storm, then so could he.

\- CE -

Lady Grantham was wide-eyed and seemed to be taking in a breath that would never end. "Married?"

"Yes, milady."

"To Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, milady."

Lady Grantham stood and turned face to face with Mrs. Hughes. "I have to say, Mrs. Hughes, I'm shocked."

Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure what to expect from her ladyship. Cora Crawley had several shocks in just as many years and managed them in good stride. Perhaps this is one shock too many.

"I mean, Carson, actually asked you to marry him?" Lady Grantham continued to advance toward the housekeeper and seemed to hum with energy.

Mrs. Hughes felt a bit challenged by her ladyship's behavior. She raised her chin and stated proudly, "He did, milady."

Lady Grantham smiled. "Well, I thought he'd never ask."

-CE-

Carson took a fortifying breath. "We don't mean to cause you any distress, my lord. You must know that."

"Distress, disruption, disbelief, why pick one? Of course the two of you are planning to retire?"

"Neither Mrs. Hughes nor I are quite ready to retire. I've purchased a house…"

"A house? When did this happen?"

"That has been in the works for a few months, my lord. You see it was my hope to start a business venture with Mrs. Hughes' assistance, a bed and breakfast to be more precise. And from there, perhaps as we were closer to retirement I might ask for her hand then."

Lord Grantham paced back and forth before plopping most ungentlemanly on the library sofa. He couldn't quite process what was happening. There have been many changes in the world of late. The decade so far had been a whirlwind of ups and downs, but Charles Carson, the steadfast leviathan of decorum and tradition is throwing it all out the window to marry Mrs. Hughes.

Lord Grantham looked up to see Carson securing a glass of brandy. "The fact that you had such a plan in place doesn't jar me at all, Carson.," Lord Grantham uttered. "But what's changed? Because it sounds to me you are wanting to marry sooner rather than later. I take it this business venture is ready to open?"

"No, my lord, it will take some time to renovate for our purposes," Carson said cautiously and bent over to hand his lordship his consolatory glass.

"But you do intend to marry soon. So, you'll retire then, before the season?"

"Well we do not plan on marrying tomorrow, my lord. Before the season, yes. But we do not wish to retire quite yet."

That last remark brought Lord Grantham up short. "You're suggesting Downton Abbey have a married butler and housekeeper?" he said quite agitated. "Well, I never," Lord Grantham said and took a generous gulp of his drink.

-CE-

"But of course you can stay," Lady Grantham said with a smile. "I mean, as long as you want to. Don't feel obligated. You and Carson have served this family long enough. I would think you'd want your time together."

Although Lady Grantham didn't mean her statement to sound risqué, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but think that is what Mr. Carson would say having heard the same. A thought that made her slightly blush.

Meanwhile, Lady Grantham was barreling down a train of thought Mrs. Hughes had pondered but not yet voiced with her fiancée.

"What room did you have in mind for you and Mr. Carson?" Lady Grantham said still beaming.

"My lady?"

"Well for after you're married of course. It wouldn't be right to stay in the attics. The two of you would never have privacy."

Mrs. Hughes paused while her ladyship paced and seemed to be going through an imaginary list of facets to consider. "I mean you will need time alone, away from your duties as butler and housekeeper. You will need your time as husband and wife," Lady Grantham said as she pulled out a pen and paper to gather her thoughts.

Now this did bring on blush. While Mrs. Hughes had thought what it might be like to share time with Mr. Carson as a married couple, having her ladyship voice it so matter of fact was like when her mother told her it was time to start wearing a corset…uncomfortable but thrilling at the same time.

Mrs. Hughes was not even sure sharing a room was what Mr. Carson intended. The two had spent the week after Christmas preparing for the Servant's Ball and then making plans to leave if their news was met with derision instead of delight. They were more concerned about having a roof over their heads, not necessarily whether that roof would be in a single bedroom or a single bed for that matter. A conversation for another time, and that time depended on the outcome of Mr. Carson's discussion with Lord Grantham.

"We can certainly discuss it, my lady," Mrs Hughes finally uttered. "Perhaps once his lordship and Mr. Carson have finished their conversation, as it may change our plans."

Lady Grantham paused in that moment. "Oh, you're quite right, Mrs. Hughes," she said a dejectedly, her excitement waning as she sat. "His lordship does not take well to change."

"Well normally my lady, neither does Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said with a nod.

"Oh to be a fly on that wall," Lady Grantham said, turning to her vanity to continue her planning.

"Well, perhaps not a fly, more like a mouse," Mrs. Hughes thought as she recalled some well-placed grating in the main hall.

-CE-

"What of standards, Carson?" Lord Grantham said unkindly. "I do not see how this arrangement can be conducive to running this house."

Lord Grantham's reaction was not a surprise to Mr. Carson; after all he too balks and berates revolution when it rears its ugly head. He has spent the past several weeks going over in his mind the wrinkle which could develop in the delicate fabric of the house should he marry Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Carson was proud of Downton; although not his by deed it was his in devotion and care, deeply rooted and unfaltering. It was this fact that gave Mr. Carson the courage to propose to Mrs. Hughes. He was firm in his belief he could love her, the Crawleys, and Downton in style as he has been doing for over a decade.

This rumination rallied his strength. Mr. Carson was affronted at the assertion he or Mrs. Hughes would allow the household to fall in disarray. "Mrs. Hughes and I uphold the highest standards at all times, my lord, because it is in our nature to do so. That will not waver," he said proudly.

"And the stir this will cause. You hate nattering and gossip more than me, Carson, but you do realize this will become the talk of the village."

"Mrs. Hughes and I understand people may be preoccupied with the news, my lord, but we will do everything in our power to ensure there is no disruption to the house."

"And when your news reaches other houses? What if other butlers have been waiting for the horn to whisk their housekeepers or housemaids off their feet?"

Now Carson did take this to offense. "I haven't whisked Mrs. Hughes off anything, or any housemaids for that matter," he said gruffly stepping toward his lordship.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to maintain this agreement-"

"Engagement, my lord!" Carson vehemently interjected. "We are engaged."

Mr. Carson's cutting interruption brought Lord Grantham up short. He realized the man before him was of course Carson, butler of the highest order requesting acquiescence from his employer to remain a loyal and devout servant; but this was also Charles Carson, man of pride and honor announcing he has decided to take a wife and may perhaps hope for kind regards from a friend.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I am afraid sensibility is lost on me at the moment," Mr. Carson said a bit flustered and wobbly.

Lord Grantham took a drink and a long breath. "Women have a way of doing that to us, Carson. Do sit down," he said and gestured to the couch.

Mr. Carson made to object and turned redder by the moment.

"Carson, please before you fall over," Lord Grantham said with a sigh. "I don't imagine Mrs. Hughes would be forgiving of me if our conversation led you to collapse."

Mr. Carson gave a slight nod in affirmation of this statement. He then sat very rigidly on the couch opposite Lord Grantham and took several breaths before trying to speak again. "I did not mean to be so forward, my lord."

"No, I doubt you did. But what's done is done," Lord Grantham said as he relaxed back into the couch. "This is truly the dawn of a new age, Carson. There have been many steps I've had to take in these changing times. Progress as they say. I suppose this is one more," Lord Grantham said as he slowly observed his now empty glass.

Mr. Carson was sympathetic to the unease this put on his lordship. After all, it was not that long ago when the committee to erect the war memorial asked him to be chairman over his lordship. What a shifting of the sands that was. It was not comfortable for Mr. Carson to accept such a change of position, but it worked out in the end. And marrying his dearest friend seemed like the finest _end_ he could ever have.

"My lord, if you would allow one of us to remain in your employ, I'm sure we could manage something-"

"No, I'm afraid that won't do," Lord Grantham said as he stood and walked to the sideboard for more drink.

Carson gave a disappointed sigh. "Of course it won't."

Mr. Carson was deflated by this, physically and mentally. Both he and Mrs. Hughes losing their posts was the worst possible outcome for announcing their understanding to his lord and ladyship. But it was not the end of all things. They would marry even sooner than hoped and renovate the house while they were in it. It might be a bit harried, but being in such close quarters with Mrs. Hughes would make it all bearable.

Carson stood, once again resolute. "Will you allow us to remain until we can find suitable replacements, my lord?"

"Carson, no one could ever replace you," Lord Grantham said pouring more brandy.

"My lord, allow me to do that."

"I can manage, Carson, besides it's bad luck to pour your own spirit of congratulations," Lord Grantham said handing Mr. Carson a glass of his very own.

"My lord, I am afraid now _I_ am the confused one."

"Well, it is nice for me have the upper hand in my own home now and again," Lord Grantham smirked.

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"Of course not, Carson. First, a toast," Lord Grantham said as he raised his glass toward Mr. Carson. "To you and Mrs. Hughes, may your days going forward be fuller and more joyous than even your best ones behind you."

Lord Grantham tossed back his drink but Mr. Carson did not follow suit right away.

"Carson what's the matter?'

"Forgive me, my lord, I seem to be having déjà vu. But, what exactly are we celebrating?"

"Downton has always been a place of grand style; its walls fortified in established ritual and tradition. As the times change, I feel cracks are forming to make the whole damned thing collapse around me," Lord Grantham said wearily.

Mr. Carson understood this feeling, for a changing Downton has haunted his days and reverberated in his heart with every strike of the gong. "My lord, Mrs. Hughes and I will find the right people to help maintain Downton's standards, to be sure. And we will take our leave as soon as we have done so."

"Carson, you are the only one to whom I would confess this, lest her ladyship think me a sentimental fool, but lately I have come to realize that Downton's cracks can be filled with compassion and communion, especially with those we most cherish. And as her steward, I think adding the regard you and our dear Mrs. Hughes have for one another can only help keep her standing."

Lord Grantham placed a hand on Mr. Carson's shoulder and said, "I'm delighted you want to stay. I'm delighted to have you both stay, married."

Mr. Carson struggled to maintain his mask of indifference as joy fought to break through. "Thank you, my lord. You have my complete and utter gratitude."

"Just make sure to maintain a happy union, Carson. The tales of a Scottish dragon are legendary above as well as below stairs. I don't think Downtown, fortified or not, could withstand a vexed housekeeper."

Carson lifted his glass and said, "Let's hope I'm worthy of the charge, my lord."

\- CE -

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had been quite busy after their meetings with their respective lord and lady. There was only time to quickly share the happy outcome of their conversations as a joint success.

Now that everyone had gone to bed, Mr. Carson glided into Mrs. Hughes' sitting room with two glasses and a bottle of wine. "Compliments from his lordship," he said raising the bottle like a prize.

"I know you said it went well, but it must have gone very well to earn us a bottle of his lordship's finest," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile as she straightened her desk.

"It was an _interesting_ conversation, Mrs. Hughes. Very trying on one's stamina. I don't recommend such meditative conversations."

"I would think not," Mrs. Hughes chuckled as she moved to their table.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Carson looked at her curious.

"Well, her ladyship and I did not have such a profound conversation as you and his lordship. It was over fairly quick. So I wandered downstairs and may have heard some of your exchange," Mrs. Hughes said with a shrug. "Not everything, mind. Mr. Barrow caught me out so I had to distract him saying her ladyship mentioned losing a button opening presents on Christmas Day."

"In other words, you were eavesdropping," Mr. Carson said with a raised eyebrow.

Mrs. Hughes waved her hand dismissively and replied, "I was merely doing my job, doing rounds and looking over things in the hall. And a good housekeeper always has an ear to the ground."

Mr. Carson leaned down and whispered, "Or to a grate."

"Charles Carson, what a mean thing to say to your fiancée," Mrs. Hughes said half hurt and half honest.

"Now, now, no need to get flummoxed about it," Mr. Carson said as he looked over the wine bottle label. "Oh, he did mention when we are ready to publicly announce our engagement he will bring out champagne, which I refused of course, but that's a conversation for another day. I did not think I had the strength to battle further."

"Some battles are not worth fighting, Mr. Carson. Perhaps you should let his lordship win that one," Mrs. Hughes said as she sat at the side table.

"I don't know, Mrs. Hughes. I am pretty sure he won the one this afternoon," Mr. Carson said handing Mrs. Hughes her glass.

"And how's that?"

Mr. Carson sat in his usual chair and looked down at his wine, replaying the earlier encounter with Lord Grantham. "There came a moment when I thought for sure he was going to boot us both out the back door without a word to our character."

"His lordship would never," Mrs. Hughes countered.

"I didn't believe so, but it felt like the tides were turning that way. Then he said something..."

Mr. Carson raised his eyes and looked intently upon Mrs. Hughes. She could feel a blush rising and had to resist the urge to touch her hair or smooth her skirt.

"What did he say?" Mrs. Hughes asked airily.

"That a regard such as ours would only fortify Downton, not tear it apart," Mr. Carson said fiddling with the tablecloth.

"My, my, his lordship is quite the poet," Mrs. Hughes said with a smirk. "Have you been giving him lessons, Mr. Carson?"

He returned her smile and in a low voice asked, "Would you agree with him, Mrs. Hughes? Is our regard for one another strong enough to keep a great house standing?"

Both knew this was skirting a delicate subject, and _regard_ could include and exclude so much. Mrs. Hughes could only think of one way to answer, "Oh I think it is, Mr. Carson, mighty strong."

Mr. Carson let out a long breath and smiled. "I believe so too, Mrs. Hughes, without a doubt," he said and raised his glass to his lips.

"Well, there's a little doubt," Mrs. Hughes objected as she readied to drink.

"What do you mean?"

Mrs. Hughes lowered her eyes at Mr. Carson and said, "Oh I don't know, something about Scottish dragons?"

Mr. Carson halted his glass. "You heard that then?" he said sheepishly.

"And I did not hear an objection to it on your part, Mr. Carson"

"Mrs. Hughes, I am…I am," Mr. Carson struggled to find the words.

"Worthy of the charge?" Mrs. Hughes sassed and took a long drink of wine.

"I only dare to hope, Mrs. Hughes. I only ever dare to hope." He said in salute before taking his own long and well-deserved drink.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. I cannot promise they will always be this long, this one got away from me a bit. But I do have plans for four more chapters.**

 **Chelsie on!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am incredibly touched by the reviews I received for chapter one. Chelsie is a warm and welcoming fandom, I am so grateful to be a part of it.**

 **Telling Tales**

"Her ladyship will be down soon," Mr. Carson said as he ushered the Dowager and Mrs. Crawley into the sitting room. "I believe there were some specifics Lady Mary wanted to go over for Mr. Talbot's visit next week."

The Dowager pursed her lips and said sourly, "Mr. Talbot, hmm, it will be nice to finally meet this mysterious suitor."

"Oh come now, I have heard nothing but good things about the man," Mrs. Crawley interjected as they sat. "He certainly seems to have lifted Mary's spirits."

"It's not her spirits I am worried about him lifting," the Dowager muttered under her breath, remembering that very inappropriate business with Lord Gillingham.

"What was that?" Mrs. Crawley asked.

"Nothing dear, nothing," the Dowager said off-handedly.

Molesley had just arrived with the tea and was making preparations to pour. Mr. Carson walked over to the table to look it all over.

The Dowager turned slightly and asked, "So Carson, are these specifics going to be terribly inconvenient?"

"I think everything will be in order, my lady. Mrs. Hughes and I will manage just fine, to be sure."

Lord Grantham strode into the sitting room at that moment. "Ah, so Carson's told you then" Lord Grantham said as he bent to kiss his mother. "I thought you wanted to wait until the issue with the rooms was settled?" he continued as he turned to the butler in confusion.

This peaked the Dowager's interest. Robert would never be so involved in the planning for a guest's stay. Something else was going on and knowing her son's tendency to ramble he'd crack open that door on his own. She held her tongue waiting for the moment to put in the wedge.

Lord Grantham said with mock austerity, "Now Mama, before you make any admonishment let me say it's all been sorted and Cora and I are in Carson's and Mrs. Hughes' corner."

Carson blustered a bit and began, "My lord, I think-"

"Oh yes," the Dowager cut him off, "we are always on their side."

"Of course, Robert, "Mrs. Crawley added, "Why wouldn't we be? This just seems to be another matter of household business, nothing more."

Mr. Carson tried to speak up again, "My lord, I mentioned to her ladyship…"

"Isobel," Robert said taken aback. "I'm shocked you would trivialize Carson and Mrs. Hughes' engagement in such a manner."

 _Got it_ , the Dowager thought smugly.

"What?" Mrs. Crawley exclaimed.

Mr. Carson stepped toward Lord Grantham and explained, "I merely mentioned a matter with some of the planning for Mr. Talbot's visit next week, sir. I had not announced that particular bit of news."

"Oh Crikey," Lord Grantham said with a sigh. "Carson, I am sorry," he apologized.

"It's quite all right, my lord," Mr. Carson said in a tone to indicate it really was not.

Lord Grantham was exasperated with himself. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had not yet announced their engagement to the staff as his wife and Mrs. Hughes were still arranging quarters. He knew the couple wanted to inform the staff where to find them in emergencies as part of their announcement. Lord and Lady Grantham both swore they would keep it a secret, and now he revealed it to not only his mother and cousin but Mr. Molesley also got an earful.

"Mosley," Lord Grantham called to the man trying to quietly sneak out of the room.

"Yes, my lord."

"I hope I can count on you to keep this under your hat until Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes choose to disclose it."

Molesley looked about ready to burst. This was better than the _bastard_ comment from Mr. Branson at least year's dinner.

"Of course, my lord, I will be quite discreet," Molesley said with a nod.

"Quite silent would be more preferred, Mr. Molesley," Mr. Carson interjected.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Molesley said sheepishly and went back to setting out the tea.

Mrs. Crawley rose and walked to Mr. Carson. "I am so very happy for you and Mrs. Hughes, Carson," she said in congratulations. "What a marvelous surprise."

"A secret surprise, Isobel," Lord Grantham added. "That is until told otherwise."

"Oh but of course. I think I will go down and congratulate Mrs. Hughes. Discreetly, of course," she said with a smile walking toward the door.

Lord Grantham turned with her to leave the room. "Yes, I have to be getting on, as well. Cora is on her way down, Mama," he called on his way out.

"Yes, I'll wait for her here," she said with a slight smirk.

As Lord Grantham and Mrs. Crawley left, the Dowager glanced backward and said, "Molesley, I think Carson can handle serving tea on his own. Surely there's something else that garners your attention."

Mr. Carson strode over to the tea setting and growled lowly, "Mr. Mo;eley when you go downstairs you will hold your tongue or I will find enough pieces of silver to keep you busy for three more lifetimes."

Molesley gulped, then looked to the Dowager and said with a slight bow, "Of course, my lady. Excuse me."

Mr. Carson set about preparing the Dowager's tea and waiting for the other shoe to fall. They had known each other a long time and been through a great deal together. He knew she would not let a development such as this go without an opinion.

Mr. Carson came around and handed the Dowager her tea. "Here you are, my lady," he said with a lilt of apprehension.

"Thank you, Carson," the Dowager said evenly.

He remained by her side as he expected her to say something about the topic at hand, but she sat there sipping her tea as usual. When a few moments went by and it would appear nothing would be discussed he made to turn back around. The Dowager then looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said, "So, Mrs. Hughes is to be Mrs. Carson."

Mr. Carson took a deep breath, "She is, my lady," he said with a nod.

"And from Lord Grantham's bungled revelation, it sounds as though the two of you will be staying in the house as a married couple."

"That's right, my lady," he said anxiety filling him up.

"So it will be kisses and petting between the polishing," the Dowager said with a sip of her tea. "My my, Carson, I never took you for such a Casanova."

Mr. Carson wished he were anywhere but here. Perhaps a small crisis or even a mild nuisance would come about and someone could pull him away. He took comfort that with Mosley out of the room, there was some possibility in that.

-CE-

Mrs. Hughes sat at her desk in a quandary. Lady Grantham had prepared a list of items for Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to consider in regards to rooms for the couple after they were married. Things like curtain patterns and chair placements were not the problem and thus at the bottom of the list. The first item which halted all progress was the question of whether or not they would be sharing a room, and by extension a bed. Every other choice would revolve around that answer. Lady Grantham gave her this list three days ago and she had yet to broach the subject with Mr. Carson.

Normally sure of her conviction and driven to see things through, Mrs. Hughes was uncharacteristically nervous on this score. While she could see herself cuddling up with her husband, she wasn't sure that was what he pictured as well. She knew he held her in high regard and even loved her, but in what way?

It was in this confused state that Mrs. Crawley roused her with a soft knock on her sitting room door.

"Oh, Mrs. Crawley," Mrs. Hughes said as she stood and walked to greet her guest.

Mrs. Crawley shut the door behind her and walked over to Mrs. Hughes with a bright smile on her face.

"Dear Mrs. Hughes, I just heard the wonderful news," Mrs. Crawley said.

"Oh, what might that be, ma'am?" Mrs. Hughes questioned with a crease in her brow.

"I'm afraid Lord Grantham let yours and Carson's engagement slip when he was upstairs."

"I see," Mrs. Hughes said nodding with a slight frown.

Mrs. Crawley, while getting over a messy engagement, was truly joyful for Mrs. Hughes. The two women bonded since their time collaborating and helping Ethel and poor Mr. Grigg. If they weren't tied to their respective roles, they would have been great friends. Mrs. Crawley therefore only dared to offer a gentle pat to Mrs. Hughes hand in assurance.

"I know it is supposed to be a secret for a while longer and I promise to keep the news close to my vest, to be sure. But I just had to come down and wish you congratulations. I couldn't be happier for you and Mr. Carson."

"Thank you, ma'am," Mrs. Hughes said with a nod.

"Lord Grantham mentioned something about rooms needing to be sorted," Mrs. Crawley said with some curiosity. "Will you and Carson be staying in the Abbey?"

"We will," Mrs. Hughes said hesitantly. "His lord and ladyship have been kind enough to allow such an arrangement."

Mrs. Crawley could tell there was a touch of apprehension in Mrs. Hughes reply. She was not certain if the woman was happy or worried about the prospect the Granthams put forward.

"And what is your opinion on this arrangement," Mrs. Crawley inquired. "I imagine as housekeeper, you would know best the rooms to suit you and Mr. Carson."

Mrs. Hughes nodded slightly before saying, "There are many things to consider, ma'am. Mr. Carson and I have not had an opportunity to speak fully on the matter."

 _Or at all_ , Mrs. Crawley silently guessed. She would not venture to know either people so well as to know Mr. Carson's or Mrs. Hughes' desires. But one thing Isobel Crawley does well is wheedle to a solution, and she carefully chose the tool to get the job done.

"I have to say this will leave a few broken hearts," Mrs. Crawley said abruptly.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Mrs. Hughes said flustered by this turn.

"Well, you remember Mrs. Byrd…"

"Of course, ma'am," Mrs. Hughes replied. _That haughty woman who spoke impertinently when she was temporarily cook for the Abbey. Not to mention the horrible way she treated Ethel._

"She thought Mr. Carson was quite dashing and, oh what was it she said?" Mrs. Crawley paused. "Yes, that his voice and manners were quite dominating."

"I see," Mrs. Hughes said sternly.

"Of course she's in Manchester now and probably forgotten all about that," Mrs. Crawley said whimsically.

"Sometimes forgetting is best for everyone involved," Mrs. Hughes said a bit snarky.

"Yes. But of course there is also Mrs. Wigan, the postmistress."

Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows in response.

Mrs. Crawley continued, "Only that I know with their work on the war memorial, she seemed to take a shine to Mr. Carson."

"Oh," Mrs. Hughes said intrigued. _That coarse woman that can't keep her mouth shut, knowing about every letter that goes in and out of Downton._

Mrs. Crawley noticed Mrs. Hughes was quite stirred by these disclosures. She had stretched the truth a bit. Mrs. Byrd only ever mentioned Mr. Carson had an authoritative timbre to his voice; good for commanding a household. Mrs. Crawley reasoned she matched the sentiment, but put it in more poetic terms.

As for Mrs. Wigan, well, Mrs. Crawley has noticed that woman's stare lingering on Carson longer than proper after church the past several Sundays. If Mrs. Hughes wasn't aware of another woman eyeing her fiancée, she was now. And that was only right of Mrs. Crawley to put her friend on alert. Yes, this was all very rational and helpful in Isobel's mind.

"Well, I best get back to the sitting room," Mrs. Crawley said quickly turning toward the door.

"Uhm, thank you for coming down, Mrs. Crawley," Mrs. Hughes managed to get out despite her dry mouth and reeling mind. "Your words have affected me greatly, I assure you."

"Well, we must all do what we can," Mrs. Crawley said leaving the room.

Mrs. Hughes looked down at Lady Grantham's list of considerations; she hadn't realized she still held it and apparently was clenching it tighter throughout the conversation.

"One bedroom or two?" she read for the hundredth time.

Mrs. Hughes' mind was suddenly quite clear on the matter, and tonight when they sat down for sherry she and Mr. Carson would talk about their future accommodations…and possibly a cook and postmistress as well.

-CE-

"My lady, I wouldn't put it quite like that," Mr. Carson protested.

"Oh, then what will it be like?" the Dowager pressed.

"Mrs. Hughes and I have great esteem for each other, but our marriage will exist outside of our daily rounds. Nothing inappropriate will be going on," Carson explained.

The Dowager did not doubt that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would maintain decorum. What she did wonder as she watched this man with a gleam in his eye thinking of his betrothed, if it was clear to Carson, despite his standards and pride, how much esteem he truly had for Mrs. Hughes. And the Dowager, ever the sharp and great lady was so very fond of pointing things out to others.

"Oh, so this is more of a companionship then," the Dowager prodded. "Someone to share tea with or a glass of wine at the end of the day?"

Mr. Carson was flustered by this comment and replied, "Well, we do that now, my lady."

"Oh," she said with false curiosity. "Well then what will change?"

This certainly jolted Mr. Carson's equilibrium. Therein was the question he'd been asking himself the past few days. For while he knew he wanted something more with Mrs. Hughes, he fell short in labeling what that _something_ was every time. It rankled him to use the term _companion_ in describing her, but he was not sure why. After all she was his dearest friend and in many ways they have been daily partners, in occupation if not in name.

"Carson," the Dowager clipped, bringing the butler back from his reflections. "As someone who knows what it is like to want for a companion, the way you look thinking of Mrs. Hughes is surely not the way I look when I think of Mrs. Crawley."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and looked down. "Of course, my lady."

"We have known each other a long time, Carson, so I won't bandy around," she continued. "The question is simple, do you love her?"

The question resounded in Mr. Carson's head like the dressing gong. He did love Mrs. Hughes; this was clear even to him. The idea of her leaving Downton when Joe Burns asked for her hand, or when he almost went to Haxby, well those feelings were born of inconvenience, at least that is how he rationalized the ache in his chest. But the thought of losing her to cancer those many years ago, the risky business of paddling in the ocean, and the steadiness of her presence reminding him to care not only about protocol but people, of fealty as well as feelings…well that he could not deny was quite simply…love.

"Yes, my lady," he said breathily. "I do love her."

The Dowager gave a slight smile and said, "There now, that wasn't so difficult was it."

Mr. Carson smiled in return. "No, my lady. Thank you."

"That only leaves us with the dilemma of your loving your wife and the Abbey with equal fervor," the Dowager parried.

"I think I am able to love them both quite well, my lady," Mr. Carson said as he stood up straighter.

"Now you've resorted to polygamy, Carson, you do surprise," she teased. "But meeting the demands of Mrs. Hughes and the demands of this house will be a trial."

Mr. Carson smiled because this was something he was sure of. "My lady, we all bend to Mrs. Hughes demands, in the end."

"You're a fast learner, Carson," the Dowager said with a grand smile.

-CE-

After the ladies had their tea and gone, Mr. Carson made his way to Mrs. Hughes sitting room. His revelation with the Dowager left him near giddy and he wanted to be clear about his intentions with his Mrs. Hughes straight away.

He gently knocked on her door and asked, "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson," she replied. "There is actually something quite important I wanted to discuss with you. Please shut the door."

Mrs. Hughes turned from her desk and gestured for him to sit at the side table. She stepped closer to him as he sat and handed him the list of items to go over regarding their rooms.

"Her ladyship wanted you and I to discuss these things, so we can settle on accommodations," she said with a touch of worry.

Mr. Carson was still high from earlier and did not notice her apprehension. He looked over the list and it all seemed in order. He did not really care what they had for curtains and such frill; although he was looking forward to a settee they could perhaps share in the evenings in front the fire.

"I have to say Mrs. Hughes, I don't think I really have an opinion that will matter. I trust your judgment; I would only ask we have a comfortable place to sit. It might be nice to have our evening sherry in our rooms instead of here," he said glancing about.

"Our rooms then?" she asked biting her lip, wanting to be sure.

"Well, yes, a settee or small sofa to share in our rooms," he said then coming up short. "That is, unless…"

It only then dawned on him how crass he must sound assuming she would want to share a room with him. Perhaps she wanted her own space. After all they had lived in their own compartments for decades having earned them through hard work and advancement; it may be difficult to give up. There was also the chance that while his heart won out in the discussion upstairs, she may not feel the same. Perhaps she wanted to be… _companions_. Mr. Carson was crestfallen.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Hughes," he mumbled as he stood. "It was boorish of me to presume we would be sharing rooms. I did not mean to offend."

 _The dear man, why is he always apologizing for loving me,_ she thought to herself.

Mrs. Hughes stepped forward quickly to correct him, "Mr. Carson, I can assure you, for the second time I might add, the very last thing in the world I am at this moment is offended," she said with a smile.

Mr. Carson straightened up and beamed at her. "Well, I'm glad that's settled," he said happily, and returned the list to her.

"Me too. Lady Grantham has been hounding me to give her an answer and I'd been putting her off."

"Oh, why is that?"

Mrs. Hughes bit her lip, "I was not sure how to broach the subject with you, to be honest. I didn't want to be presumptuous either."

The couple chuckled at their joint foolishness for wanting the same thing.

"I suppose we've been a bit silly then," Mr. Carson suggested. "After all, since when do you have trouble asking me tough questions?" he said with a smile.

There was a pause. Mrs. Hughes did in fact have some questions she wanted to ask. Questions that seemed to multiply like Russian dolls. _Would he have settled for a retirement with the housekeeper at Haxby had he gone? Exactly, how much time did he and Mrs. Byrd spend together that she was able to take a liking to his timbre? And that Wigan woman, she was the one that ultimately wanted him as chairmen. Did he find her promotion of him appealing?_

On and on, these thoughts ran around her head this afternoon. _Well, Elsie, you'll not get any answers holding your tongue,_ she mentally chided.

"Now that you say that, I was just wondering…" she started hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Had you ever taken a fancy to any of the ladies in the village, or perhaps another woman in service?"

Mr. Carson was perplexed and asked loudly, "What on earth are you talking about?"

Mr. Hughes shushed him and continued, "Just that I know you are a fine man, Mr. Carson, very fine if I may say so."

"I think as my betrothed you are the only one who gets to say so," he said proudly as he stepped closer to her.

Mrs. Hughes smiled at that. "Be that as it may, any woman would be lucky to have you for a husband. If you had not asked me or I had not been around when you did retire, maybe you would have asked someone else? You know even to just have a companion," she questioned cautiously, wanting to inquire but not necessarily wanting to know.

Mr. Carson took another step closer and took her hand in his. The feeling of it steadied him, just as it did at the beach in Brighton. In a way, it steadied Mrs. Hughes as well. Such a bold gesture may be risqué for her, but it was positively racy for the butler. Mr. Carson looked at her confidently and she returned his gaze with a mixture of nerves and joy.

"Mrs. Hughes perhaps I need to assure you of something, for the second time," he said deeply. "I'm not marrying anyone else."

He brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft and lingering kiss to the back of it. The warmth in his touch was sheer joy to her. The feel of her skin on his lips was heaven to him. It was an admission and a promise. Not just of companionship, for they could not deny they will have that; but of love, so deep and consuming it was like their souls were stretching out to meet in the space between them.

Mr. Carson rested their joined hands against his chest. Mrs. Hughes did not hold back her smile and was so overwhelmed she became a bit teary.

"Well, call me an old booby," she laughed wiping her eyes.

"Never, my dear," he said producing a handkerchief for her to use. "That moniker is reserved for me, just as Mrs. Charles Carson has only ever been reserved for you."

Mrs. Hughes was enraptured. She always thought between his devotion to the family and her monetary circumstances, they would live out their days as Downton's dual heads of staff. They would enjoy the steady friendship they developed over the years. And while her heart might have ached, as it did from time to time, wishing they could be more, she would have him—they would have each other in their own way. But his proposal and now his confession changed all that. Whatever doubts Mrs. Hughes had about this man's love for her been erased by his words and touch. And how she hoped for more touches in the future.

The air around the couple was charged. Mrs. Hughes felt herself leaning in to Mr. Carson's chest, when their moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. They dropped each other's hand and turned as Anna stuck her head in.

"Mrs. Hughes…Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt," she started, then noticed Mr. Carson.

"What is it, Anna?" Mr. Carson asked.

Anna knew better than to let her curiosity get the better of her and put aside any suspicion she had about the housekeeper's apparently shaken state. "It's just that Mr. Molesley seems to be agitated," she said simply. "He has been ever since he came down from her ladyship's tea with the Dowager and Mrs. Crawley."

"I see. Yes, I think I know why," Mr. Carson grumbled.

"Well, perhaps you could intervene then, Mr. Carson. Mr. Barrow seems suspect and is giving poor Mr. Molesley tremors with all his questioning."

"Thank you, Anna," Mrs. Hughes said kindly. "We'll be out to get it sorted in a moment."

Anna left and closed the door.

"Well, the worst of it is over don't you think, now that the Dowager knows after all," Mrs. Hughes suggested.

Mr. Carson nodded in agreement. "I suppose you want to tell this scrupulous lot?" he asked sarcastically referring to the staff.

"I fear for Mr. Molesley's nerves if we don't," Mrs. Hughes said with a chuckle.

"I suppose it will be nice to have everything clear about us," Mr. Carson conceded as he moved toward the door.

"Yes, very nice," she agreed.

He held the door to her sitting room open when she mentioned, "Oh, after we tell them, I need to run into the village for an errand. Is there anything you need?"

"Not that I can think of. It's a bit late for an errand isn't it. What do you have to do?" he asked.

"Oh I just have to pop down to the post office," she said a bit blasé as they strode to the servant's hall to share their engagement with the staff. "I need to offer some _clarity_ to our local postmistress."

A/N: Okay this one got away from me a bit too. But hopefully the longer chapter was worth the wait. I'm not completely happy with the ending. Let me know what you think. Chelsie on!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed or followed this story. I am blessed to hear from you all. I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint a couple of you. We won't see the announcement to the staff in this fic. I don't think I could do it justice. But, the extra long wait did warrant an extra long chapter.

 _The Birds and the Bees_

Several weeks passed since Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes announced their engagement to the staff. Their news was met with surprise by all, joy by some, and speculation by Mr. Barrow. The maids and hall boys took to whispering and random outbursts of laughter below stairs, enthralled in what Mr. Carson doubtlessly assumed was lewd conversation. This earned his footmen and hall boys a line-up and talking to about showing respect; and he outright forbade indelicate language.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hughes thought making such a display would only fuel the fire. But to calm the butler's nerves she spoke to her maids about decorum and to try to keep the chatter down lest Mr. Carson drive her mad before they even get down the aisle.

Earlier this particular week, the family traveled to Wilshire for a long weekend leaving Lady Mary behind with her duties to the estate. Thankfully, the woman was too busy to be much of a bother, taking all her meals in the library pouring over ledgers and the like.

So it was in this unusually calm state, Mrs. Hughes found herself standing on a small stool in her sitting room being fitted for a wedding dress, something she had mixed emotions about. Her inner pragmatist shouted that there was no need for such a fuss, but between Anna's imploring to make the dress and Lady Grantham's urging to procure the fabric, in the end the most pragmatic thing to do was give in.

They had been at it for a while when there was a light knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Anna called out.

"It's just me, Daisy."

Anna stood from her crouched position to open the unusually locked door. "All right, as long as it's just you," she said teasing.

The last time Anna had been in here about Mrs. Hughes' dress there were three bolts of fabric lying on her desk. The two women were discussing what the housekeeper would like to see in her simple but elegant dress, when Mr. Carson began to open the door without a response to his earlier knock. Anna took quite a tumble tripping over a chair to shut the door, not wanting the butler to see one thread of what would become his bride's dress. After that Anna thought it safer for everyone to lock the door so the groom would not catch a peek and she would not end up with a broken neck.

"Mrs. Patmore sent me with some tea," Daisy said setting the tray down on the side table.

"Thank you, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes said stepping off the stool.

"Oh no you don't!" Anna chastised. "Mrs. Hughes you've been rather fidgety for me today and I'm not nearly done. Now get back up there."

Mrs. Hughes was taken aback. Being the tenured housekeeper it had been a long time since anyone ordered her around. But coming from Anna, she knew it was only meant out of love and quite possibly a bit of exasperation as Mrs. Hughes had been preoccupied through their entire fitting.

"Well, that's put me in my place," Mrs. Hughes replied with a small smile.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said sweetly. "But it's true. I've not got half the pins in your hem yet and we have been at this for nearly an hour."

"I know," Mrs. Hughes said returning to perch on the stool. "I'm sorry, Anna. I am just a bit nervous."

"Why?" Daisy asked. "I think it's romantic, you and Mr. Carson getting married."

"Thank you, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes said with a small smile. "You see, Mr. Carson had an appointment with the doctor this afternoon," Mrs. Hughes continued and began to wring her hands. "I know he said he's due for a check-up and just wanted to get it out of the way, but I have nagging sense there's something more."

Mrs. Hughes thought back to the time Mr. Carson collapsed during the war under the strain of falling standards. The man's practice is to overdo things. It would not be remiss of him to want perfection, not only for the house during this uproarious time but his nuptials as well. Perhaps this was all too much? It was just the other day the man's face immediately reddened at her suggestion he start calling her 'Elsie' again, since he had not done so since she was promoted from head housemaid all those years ago.

"I'm sure everything is fine, Mrs. Hughes" Anna said, interrupting the housekeeper's worries. The young woman nodded to Daisy, urging her to join in reassuring Mrs. Hughes.

"Oh yes," Daisy answered, finally catching on. "Mr. Carson is as strong as an ox, Mrs. Hughes. Like you say, it's just one more thing to get done."

"Besides, it's not like he has much to do but lurk outside your door when I'm in here," Anna said with a smirk.

"You did berate him well enough that last time," Mrs. Hughes smiled, remembering the nonplussed look on Mr. Carson's face at being reprimanded by the lady's maid. "As a matter of fact," Mrs. Hughes continued, "perhaps you and I need to have a talk about your cheek."

"I make no apologies for wanting to do things proper," Anna said with a smile and a straight back. "And deep down Mr. Carson would be the first to agree with me, once his ears stop ringing that is," earning her a chuckle from the two women.

"What about you, Mrs. Hughes?" Daisy asked. "Shouldn't you be getting in to see the doctor too?"

Mrs. Hughes looked perplexed. "Why on earth would I need to see the doctor?"

Daisy blushed a little. "Well, you know?"

Now Anna and Mrs. Hughes stared at the assistant cook in wonderment. Daisy seemed to have ideas float in and out of her head on the best of days, but where she was coming from with this had both women quite thrown.

"No, I don't know" Mrs. Hughes replied.

Daisy was truly flustered now, thinking she overstepped. "Well, it's just, just," she stuttered edging toward the door.

"Daisy?" Mrs. Hughes said firmly.

"Well for the babies and all," Daisy finally got out.

Mrs. Hughes toppled off the stool, nearly knocking Anna clear over; the younger woman half catching and half falling as she tried to steady the housekeeper.

"What babies?" Mrs. Hughes cried.

"I mean with you and Mr. Carson getting married," Daisy said in full on nerves. "I just figured you'd be wanting to have a baby. I mean isn't that the way of it?"

Anna sniggered quietly into her hand and Mrs. Hughes turned to give her a stern look. Turning back to Daisy, understanding washed over Mrs. Hughes and she softened her expression with the girl. She knew it was only recently Daisy was able to expand her studies beyond the learning of a ten-year-old. Why wouldn't the girl be confused about this?

"You're right, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes affirmed kindly as she laid a hand on Daisy's arm. "For most couples where the bride is younger, much younger than I, that usually is the way of it."

"You think you'd be too old to take care of a baby?" Daisy asked.

Mrs. Hughes nodded her head. "Well there's that. Can you see me running after a bairn getting into Mr. Carson's silver polish?" she said jokingly, making Daisy smile.

The womanhood conversation was not foreign to Mrs. Hughes. Some maids have come onto her staff quite young and were never told by their mothers what to expect the first time they met crimson in the water closet. Mrs. Hughes would always take the girl aside, give her a cup of tea with a touch of scotch to ease her nerves, hand her a set of cloths and explain the messy business of her monthly visitor. She was clear and gave as many facts as was proper, and always ended the conversation with a smile and a pat on the back. She actually had to have this conversation with Daisy not long after she arrived.

"Remember when I had a talk with you about your monthly?" Mrs. Hughes gently asked.

"Yes," Daisy blushed.

"And I told you it your body's way of saying it was ready to have bairns, although not that you should be having any so young."

Daisy nodded, remembering how horrified she was with the whole conversation those many years ago; this one becoming equally terrible by her estimation.

"Well, later on in life, the monthlies will stop. And that's the body's way of saying it cannot have bairns anymore. Mine stopped some time ago, Daisy."

Daisy thought Mrs. Hughes would make a great mother, having been sort of one to her over the years alongside Mrs. Patmore. Even Mr. Carson, with his sternness and ordering about, was someone Daisy wanted proud of her. Isn't that what most children want from their fathers? The thought that they couldn't have children made Daisy a bit sad and she voiced as much.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I didn't mean to bring it up."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Maybe if I'd gone another way it would have been possible. But no worries there, Daisy. I've enjoyed my work and my life," she said gently. "Besides, with you lot I may as well have birthed a dozen bairns in the form of maids, footmen, and hall boys that have come through that door."

Anna walked up behind Mrs. Hughes and said with a quiver to her voice, "For which we are so very grateful."

"You two are going to make a mess of me," Mrs. Hughes said as she wiped at her eyes.

Anna handed her a handkerchief and took a deep breath trying to will her own tears away.

"Now be off with you, Daisy, before Mrs. Patmore starts shouting for you," Mrs. Hughes said waving the girl out of her sitting room.

Mrs. Hughes went back to her stool thinking she may encourage Daisy to take a course in biology with her next round of studies. Anna returned to hemming and the two were quiet for several minutes before Anna spoke up.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, Anna."

"I know you're usually the one giving the _talks_ around here," Anna started awkwardly. "But as a married woman…Well if there was anything you were curious about…You know about actually…Oh please don't make me say it."

Mrs. Hughes gaped down at Anna in shock. This was certainly a role reversal. Her shock was magnified because as she spoke with the two young women about the subject she realized she wasn't sure such a thing would even be happening. I mean did Mr. Carson plan on taking her to bed, in _that_ way? The man was still refusing to call her by her Christian name in the house because they were at work; never mind that they were never anywhere else. Still, this topic was not a conversation she wanted to have with someone she saw as daughter.

"Uhm, thank you, Anna. I appreciate the offer, but I'll figure it out for myself I'm sure."

"Of course you will," Anna said shaking away any thoughts of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson engaging in marital intimacies.

They returned to silence for a few moments and Mrs. Hughes continued her thoughts. After all, what did she want from that side of things? She has spent decades holding onto her virtue; the prospect of relinquishing it, even to a man who would be her husband, was a little unnerving. She knew the basics of it, of course, but it mostly sounded like a lot of discomfort for the woman and fun for the man. Then again, serving Lady Grantham over the years, her sunny disposition after such amorous activities would seem to suggest otherwise.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Anna interrupted again.

"Anna, if we are ever going to get this dress done, I think it best we leave any talk of the bedroom out of it for now."

"It's just that I have a book. Well it's not my book, it's…Well I can't say whose book it is," Anna stammered. "But it has a lot of information in it that can be quite useful."

Mrs. Hughes looked down at the young woman in shock. "I think I know what book you're referring to and after the talk with Daisy, I think it would be clear I don't need anything from that book," she said a bit harshly. "I'm surprised you would have a copy."

"Like I said, it's not mine-"

"But you've read it?" Mrs. Hughes asked accusingly, hands on hips.

"Well, yes. At first it was just to learn what I needed for-"

"I thought you and Mr. Bates wanted to have a child," Mrs. Hughes said sternly.

Mrs. Hughes remembered finding _that_ book in Edna Braithwaite's things when that despicable woman set her sights on Mr. Branson. Mrs. Hughes didn't read it cover to cover, having only glanced about the parts on contraception so she could catch out the trouble mongering maid. Mrs. Hughes was surprised Anna would read such things and make any use of the information. After all, it had been the housekeeper's hope for several years that the young woman would find herself with child, so that the Bates' could finally share in some joy beyond the shadows of their lives. And that perhaps when born, she would get a chance to snuggle the wee babe or babysit for an afternoon or evening. The thought that Anna was doing anything counter to that stung Mrs. Hughes.

"Why on earth would you read such a thing?" she asked with reproach.

"That's just it, Mrs. Hughes, there's more in there than instructions on… _that_ ," Anna said defensively.

Both women were quite agitated now and relieved when there came another knock at the door. Anna went to open it and peeked out.

"Mr. Carson is back from the village," Daisy said quietly. "He headed straight upstairs but wanted me to tell Mrs. Hughes he'd like to speak with her after dinner."

The housekeeper nodded. "Thank you, Daisy," Anna replied shutting the door and returning to the stool.

"I'm done for now, Mrs. Hughes," she said flatly.

"I dare say so," Mrs. Hughes replied, softening her tone as her mind jumped from being troubled by Anna's literature to the meeting later with her fiancée.

The two women managed in silence to get the dress off Mrs. Hughes with the many pins in place and safely secure in a curtained-off alcove in her sitting room. Anna made to leave as the housekeeper was doing up her last few buttons on her black dress, but before she opened the door she turned back.

"Mrs. Hughes, I didn't mean to offend you," Anna said contritely. She couldn't bear Mrs. Hughes being mad at her. "And Mr. Bates and I are trying to have a baby, honestly."

Mrs. Hughes went and grabbed Anna's hands taking them in her own. "I know, I know," she said ashamed of her outburst. "Don't mind me. I'm all stirred up over Mr. Carson and this wedding. I didn't mean a thing by it."

"I know it's taken so long. I would never use-" Anna tried to explain.

"Anna, it will happen when it happens," Mrs. Hughes interrupted with a smile. "And when it does you'll shine brighter than the sun, and I will be so thrilled for you. That's all that matters."

Anna smiled back as tears fell from her eyes. Mrs. Hughes handed the young woman back the handkerchief she lent her earlier.

"There now, none of that," Mrs. Hughes gently chided. "Go on, it'll be nearly time for the dressing gong."

Anna turned to leave again but stopped to offer some comfort. "I'm sure he's fine, Mrs. Hughes. He probably just wants you all to himself."

"We'll see," Mrs. Hughes replied quietly. The hours could not go by quick enough.

-CE-

 _Earlier…_

"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Carson," Dr. Clarkson said turning to rinse his hands in a basin. "You can get dressed now."

Mr. Carson pulled on his pants and shirt behind the screen in the doctor's office while the physician walked to his desk, making some notes in his patient's file.

"I have to say, Mr. Carson, I'm surprised to see you so early," Dr. Clarkson said slightly curious. "Normally you wait just before the family travels to London to get your yearly done."

Mr. Carson was tying his shoes and replied, "Well, we have a lot going on at the house and I knew his lord and ladyship would be gone. So it seemed like an opportune time."

"Yes, I imagine with planning the wedding, you and Mrs. Hughes are busier than usual," Dr. Clarkson said with a smile. "And I am going to say this now so I do not have to rush up to the Abbey later. Do try to take it easy. You won't do yourself or Mrs. Hughes any favors if you overdo things and strain yourself."

Mr. Carson came from behind the screen fully dressed in his gray suit. He replied in a preoccupied tone, "Yes. Yes, I will certainly try."

"Mr. Carson," Dr. Clarkson called as the butler grabbed his coat and hat by the door. "From my examination, you appear quite fit for a man your age."

Mr. Carson raised his eyebrow at the mention of his age, but Dr. Clarkson ignored the butler's look and continued, "You could stand to perhaps forego Mrs. Patmore's apple tart now and then. But you do keep quite busy, and as long you remain active I see no cause for concern."

Mr. Carson simply nodded and looked down. He seemed to struggle with the thought of staying or leaving.

As a physician, Dr. Clarkson was astute to not only what his patients told him but also what they did not. Charles Carson never remained longer than to exchange a few pleasantries and be on his way. The fact that the man remained and seemingly troubled was notable to the doctor.

"Is there something in particular you have concerns about?" Dr. Clarkson asked.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. He did have an ulterior motive for moving forward his yearly check-up. He was only a few weeks away from taking his bride down the aisle, and there were certain things he was curious about. After all, Charles Carson had never been a husband and he was very aware that his wedding night was his chance to start off on the right foot; and well, he did not want it to start with a stumble.

"I did have a few questions, if you have the time?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Of course," Dr. Clarkson replied and gestured for the man to join the doctor at his desk.

The two men sat across from each other, one eager to hear what was obviously perturbing the other, and the other quite dreading to voice what had him so perturbed.

"Mr. Carson?" Dr. Clarkson urged.

The butler raised his head and looked to the heavens for help with the words. "I was just wondering," he muttered, "as you said earlier, a man my age…"

"Yes."

"Well with me and Mrs. Hughes getting married, I was just wondering...with relations. Would that be possible?"

Dr. Clarkson nodded, finally understanding. "Ah I see. You mean intercourse?"

Mr. Carson blustered at the use of such language. "Uhm, yes."

"Does everything seem to work as it should?" the doctor inquired delicately.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Carson stammered.

"Does everything come to attention, as it were, when you experience arousal?"

"Good lord," Mr. Carson said under his breath as he wiped a hand across his face. "I appreciate your time, Doctor, but I think I'll be on my way now. Thank you." He said quickly and stood making to run from the office.

Dr. Clarkson stood as well and called out, "Mr. Carson, please! I do want to help. There are some things you should probably consider. I will try to be as tactful as I can, but I will have to speak frankly."

Mr. Carson turned and nodded. It was very important to him that he make his wife happy, and if this was something they were going to do, well he wanted to be sure he was up for the task.

"So," the doctor continued, "do you experience arousal when you think of your fiancée?"

"Mrs. Hughes has been my colleague and friend for many years," Mr. Carson blustered. "I would not denigrate our relationship by engaging in such improper thoughts."

"She's your betrothed now, Mr. Carson," the doctor countered.

"I am quite aware of that, having been the one who asked her," the butler shot back.

"And it would not be unusual for a man to think of such things."

"Well I haven't!" Mr. Carson said proudly.

"Then I suggest now is the time to have some improper thoughts if you plan on having success in your bed," Dr. Clarkson said exasperated.

"How dare you!" Mr. Carson boomed.

The doctor came around his desk and said forcefully, "Mr. Carson, we'll be at this for days if I do not speak plainly! You're asking me if a man your age can engage in sexual activities with his bride-to-be. I am telling you the root of the matter is whether or not you can achieve erection."

Both men were a bit harried at this point. The doctor frustrated with the uptightness of his patient, and the patient discomfited to the point of near collapse.

"All right," the butler finally answered. "I will think on it."

"Good," Dr. Clarkson answered a bit calmer.

"Then, what?"

"Well as I said, you are quite fit. I don't see why you and Mrs. Hughes should not enjoy regular intimacies so long as you keep up your health."

Mr. Carson nodded before suddenly being hit by a realization sparked by the doctor's words… _Mrs. Hughes should not enjoy regular intimacies_. Although the issue with the bedroom was settled and surely a certain amount of cuddling would probably occur, Mr. Carson was not sure if his bride's interests ran to this level of intimacy. Even though Mrs. Hughes was slightly younger, he was aware that after a certain age things _changed_ for women and he never studied much into the matter to know what all was entailed. Perhaps the desire for such activities simply was not there. _I am such a lecherous ass_ , he thought to himself.

Dr. Clarkson watched uncertainty flit across the butler's face. The doctor walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small pamphlet; it was brown and had no words printed on either the front or back plain paper cover.

"Mr. Carson," the doctor said, handing the item to the other man. "This is standard literature I give to men about to be married."

"I'm not some young lad without an understanding of the mechanics, Dr. Clarkson," Mr. Carson bristled.

"No, but there's more to it than that. I have even updated it to include some work by a woman named Stopes that has some insight on what can make the experience more enjoyable for your wife."

This intrigued Mr. Carson. He did want the experience to be satisfying to them both, but especially her if he could make it so. That's if it happened at all. He could have saved himself this whole trip down here if she only expects a chaste sort of love. But when he kissed her hand the other day, it certainly felt like there may have been something more. This whole marriage business was becoming more of a quandary by the day. Still, if Mrs. Hughes did indicate interest, he should certainly want to be prepared. With trepidation, Mr. Carson took the pamphlet.

"You're walking in shoes which have been worn by many men," Dr. Clarkson said.

"I beg your pardon!" the butler said vehemently, thinking of his fiancée's honor.

Dr. Clarkson put up his hands and said, "I only meant it's common to be nervous on your wedding night. Most men are."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mr. Carson said tugging on his vest. "Forgive me. I thought you were being rude."

"Mr. Carson, if anyone ever besmirched a Scotswoman as Mrs. Hughes, there'd be nothing left of the man for you to tear into," the doctor said with a smile.

Mr. Carson smiled back, knowing too well that Elsie Hughes would need no help in defending her own honor.

-CE-

Following the staff's dinner, wherein Mrs. Hughes shot worrying glances toward the butler, one of the maids dusting in the main hall knocked a wall fixture loose and there was glass all over. Mrs. Hughes had to oversee the clean up to ensure every bit was found and cleared to avoid anyone injuring themselves, especially with little ones in the house. Mr. Carson waited for her in his pantry, sitting at his desk in deep reflection. He wanted to clear the air with Mrs. Hughes on the topic of their marital relations, but he was troubled on how to bring up such a conversation.

Mr. Carson opened his desk drawer and pulled out the brown pamphlet the doctor had given him earlier. He flipped through it noticing there were some diagrams along with the text, flustering the man. _Come on now, it's just a book…research. You're just being thorough,_ he told himself.

He opened the front cover and began reading. The literature was quite revealing about the human body, male and female. It certainly opened his eyes to things he never thought of. He was so engrossed he didn't hear the clickety clack of Mrs. Hughes' footfalls in the corridor, or her light knock. It was only when he saw her entering from the corner of his eye that he noticed her. He immediately stood, thrust the pamphlet back into the drawer and shut it firmly.

"There you are," he said gruffly, not intending to do so.

Mrs. Hughes shut the door behind her and walked with trepidation to stand beside his desk, "Yes, sorry about that. We got it all up, you'll be happy to know," she said with a weak smile, overwrought with whatever it was he had to tell her.

"Yes, well that is good news," he said giving her a smile. He was always so proud of how well she worked—grace under pressure. It was part of the reason he loved her.

"What's that?" she asked, interrupting his thought.

"What's what?"

"Whatever it is you put away?" she said curiously.

"It's uh," Mr. Carson harrumphed, "well it's just some literature Dr. Clarkson gave me."

This confirmed Mrs. Hughes' worries. What sort of reading would the doctor give Mr. Carson if not to explain some terrible illness the man had? The thought made her breath hitch, but she tried to steady herself. _In sickness and health, right Elsie_ , she told herself.

"So does it explain your condition?" she asked warily.

Mr. Carson always knew Mrs. Hughes to be perceptive but for her to know _this_ was mysterious; adding to both his admiration and consternation, as sometimes she was too perceptive.

"Yes, it explains some things," he replied.

"I see," Mrs. Hughes said quietly. "May I read it?"

"What?!" he exclaimed.

"Well, we're to be married. Don't you think I should read it too?"

"No!" he shouted intensely.

She gave him a questioning look which made him pause and even his tone a bit.

"I mean," he stammered, "I think this is just for the man to read."

"What does that mean?" she said quite irritated.

"This is too indelicate for a lady's…"

Mrs. Hughes had agitated herself into a ball of worry all day and she refused to let him be chauvinistic about his health. "Mr. Carson," she said sternly and stepping around the desk nearer her man, "I'm no lady. And as your future wife I think I should be informed, same as you."

This made sense to Mr. Carson, but he still was not comfortable with the idea of them both reading this sort of material. He held Mrs. Hughes in too high a regard. He was contemplating this when he noticed how close Mrs. Hughes was and that her eyes were welled up with tears.

"Mrs. Hughes, please do not be upset by-" he started.

"Charles, please," she said closing the gap between them and taking his hand, imploring her fiancée to see her side. "Whatever it is, whatever the doctor said is wrong, we can deal with it better together. The point of us marrying is to face the future as one. Please don't hide whatever is ailing you from me."

"Oh, Elsie," he said bring his hands up to her face and tilting it up toward his. "Is that what you think? That I'm unwell somehow?"

"Aren't you?" she questioned, enjoying the feel of his cool hands against her flushed cheeks. "You have never gone to the doctor early. I think you wouldn't go at all if Lady Grantham did not make it a point that all staff had to have a yearly."

Never breaking eye contact he told her sweetly, "I am quite well. You can trust me on that."

"But you picked at your dinner and only ate a couple of bites of dessert. You love Mrs. Patmore's apple tart."

"Am I so venal that I'm marked by my likeness for sweets?" he said with a smirk, earning a watery laugh from his beloved. Then with some solemnity he said with a firm voice but gentle tone, "I am quite well."

"You promise?" she beseeched him.

Overcome by his and her emotions and still cradling her face in his hands, he pulled her close to softly kiss her forehead.

"I promise," he said, his lips caressing her head as he spoke. He followed this with one more kiss there and then enveloped her in his arms.

The couple embraced for several moments, Mrs. Hughes finding comfort in the butler's arms, and he learning how well her body fit into his. This was the first time they held each other so closely, so much of them touching. She wanted to melt into him; seep through the fabric of his livery like the wine he served, velvety and rich. He wanted to be covered in her scent; wrap himself in it like the sheets she managed. Her hair smelled clean and inviting like linen brought in fresh from outside. It was a warm moment for them both.

Finally Mrs. Hughes broke the silence. "You called me 'Elsie,'" she said plainly, with a hint of happiness.

"I did."

"And the Abbey is still standing," she teased.

He chuckled as he kept his hold on her but let her loose so he could look her in the eyes and said, "And I'll say it again. But only when we're alone."

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to protest but before she could he leaned down to her ear and whispered, "Or perhaps in passing, I'll say it quietly like this. Just for you to hear."

Mrs. Hughes had many secrets whispered to her over the years, but never one that made her legs want to give out as this did. The timbre of her fiancée's voice matched with the faint feeling of his breath on her neck made her shiver all over. Something which Mr. Carson noticed, and did not think the least bit disturbing.

"I think I like that, Charles," she said trying out his name. Although she had said it before, it was usually to scold the proud butler, this was different.

Now it was Mr. Carson's turn to be thrilled. She had said his name so soft and slow, and with a thick brogue that made the 'r' roll on forever. The sensations strumming through him made his hands at her back twitch and grasp lightly at the fabric there. These feelings moved through him and even to a place he had just discussed with the doctor that afternoon; a region which seemed ready to wake after a long winter's nap.

Realizing what was happening he thrust her away before sitting in his chair and tucking himself under his desk as deeply as he could.

"Charles, what's the matter?" Mrs. Hughes asked, confused by the man's sudden withdrawal.

"Nothing, nothing," Mr. Carson mumbled.

"Are you sure?" she asked, stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," he replied softening his tone as best he could. "Truly, I just need to get back to something, that's all."

"Oh yes, your literature," Mrs. Hughes said still curious about it.

"No, no, not that-" he started.

"You never did tell me what it was that the doctor gave you to read," she said wheedling.

"Nothing of importance," he replied flipping open a random ledger from his desk. "We can talk about it another time."

"You said it explained some things about your condition," she said bringing his words from earlier the forefront of her mind. "Charles, if you're not ill then what _condition_ is it explaining?"

"Well, uhm. I did say that, but I meant-"

"And you said it was only for _the man_ to read," Mrs. Hughes said, more to herself as she was putting the pieces of this verbal puzzle together.

Mr. Carson sat hoping she would just let it go or guess at something inane that a horrible liar could plausibly agree to. Or where was Molesley with an interruption when you need him; that man was underfoot at the best of times and nowhere to be found when his quirky disposition was needed.

Mrs. Hughes was no fool. As everything snapped into place, she got the feeling that her earlier concerns over her soon-to-be husband's interest in greater intimacies were unfounded. Rather, he may be quite keen on the idea.

"Charles?" she asked, knowing she would have to ease into this topic.

"Elsie?"

"Earlier, I had the silliest conversation with Daisy," she started, much to the butler's relief as he felt a change in subject coming on.

"Oh, how's that?" he asked.

"Well, I had mentioned my worry over your appointment with the doctor and she seemed to think I should go see him myself."

"What? Why? Elsie, are you ill?" he asked with a bit of panic.

She smiled down at her man. "No, I'm not ill. She just seemed to think that with us getting married, we might want to have children and I should make sure everything is at should be."

Mr. Carson was struck. "Children? At your age…our age?" he asked incredulously.

Mrs. Hughes shot him a look before saying, "Charles of course there won't be any children. I'm afraid that time has passed for me."

"I see," he said quietly. "Does that upset you?"

Her earlier conversation had prepared her for this, and allowed her a channel to expand with him. "No, not really. I mean, would you give up your life for the past twenty-odd years for something different? Haven't we been happy in this way?" she asked.

Mr. Carson knew immediately how happy he had been. He was the butler of a fine house, a prestigious role he earned after making a fool of himself on the stage. He had the respect and admiration of the family he served and even people in the village. His life was grand given his station and he knew to think of it sweetly. And Mrs. Hughes had been by his side for several years now; helping him, prodding him, and caring for him, which made it all the sweeter.

"I have been happy. I chose this life knowing it would be a lonely one," he said looking about his pantry. Then with a smile he looked at her. "But with you, well I don't think I've really felt alone since you came to Downton."

"Flatterer," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile and glassy eyes.

"I mean it," he said, taking hold of the hand she had been resting on his shoulder.

"I know you do. I feel the same," she replied. "Remember, I thought I'd have to work til my heart gave out. And you were ready to die in harness yourself as I recall. We would have made quite a pair."

"We will make quite a pair," he interjected. "But as husband and wife. A future, I could not be happier about."

"Me neither," she said smiling as her fiancée smiled back.

The pair took a long loving moment to enjoy the feelings running around and through them. He rubbing her hand with his, while she laid her other arm across the back of his chair.

Breaking from their revelry, Mr. Carson asked, "So, no babies then?"

"No babies, even if we tried," she affirmed with a smirk.

"Right then," he said looking at his desk.

Mrs. Hughes bent down a bit and whispered, "But the trying can still happen, if you want?"

Mr. Carson inhaled sharply at her suggestion and started coughing quite violently. Mrs. Hughes patted his back, hoping her question wasn't too much, when there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Carson?" Mr. Molesley asked as he stuck his head in.

The housekeeper and butler looked up both appearing quite irritated, although in Mr. Carson's fit, Molesley couldn't be sure if the butler's reddened face was directed at him.

"What is it, Mr. Molesley?" Mrs. Hughes inquired.

"Lady Mary wanted me to let Mr. Carson know she'd be away tomorrow and not to expect her until tea," the footman stated. "Is Mr. Carson well?"

The butler patted Mrs. Hughes' hand to let her know he was fine and his eyes told her to get Mr. Molesley out of his pantry. She moved to the door and stepped out into the corridor, ushering Molesley along with her.

"Oh he's fine," she said, shutting the door behind her. "I think I'll just get him some water."

"Of course," he said simply and turned to head back to the servant's hall.

"Oh, Mr. Molesley, is Anna still here?" the housekeeper asked.

"I believe so, do you need her?"

"Well, I may still be tending to Mr. Carson. If you could perhaps relay a message?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes."

"Tell her, I would like to borrow that book after all."

A/N: Okay, because we have all been replaying a certain forehead kiss since Sunday, I had to include it here. Oh the feels! I think I'm going to burst. Hope you enjoyed this. Two more chapters to go. Chelsie on!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you again to all who have reviewed, followed, or favorited this fic. I plan to thank you all personally when I'm through. I hope you don't think I'm being neglectful. Every review and follow has been a highlight to this process. I know when I read fanfic I get a warm feeling in what can sometimes be a dull or bad day. I hope that happens for you when you read this…the warm feeling part, not the bad day part. Warning there's a touch of silliness and angst in this one.**

 **Word of Mouth**

"So are you going to explain that dozy look you've had all day?" Mrs. Patmore asked as she sat having tea with Mrs. Hughes.

"I never have," the other woman replied, with a slight blush on her face.

Mrs. Patmore shot her friend an incredulous look. Ever since the butler and housekeeper announced their engagement the cook noticed the way the couple vacillated—mostly between her happiness to his haughtiness. She knew they would get there in the end, but it still made it damned frustrating and a little amusing to watch. Mrs. Patmore would offer her friend a cup of a tea and a listening ear when they were able to find the time.

"I know the wedding is just over a week away, but you look like a woman who's already enjoyed her wedding night," the cook continued with a chuckle.

Mrs. Hughes shushed the cook, looking at her firmly shut door. "Keep your voice down!"

"Oh my word, you have haven't you," Mrs. Patmore said in astonishment. "I never thought ol' Charlie would have it in him."

Mrs. Hughes gave her friend a stern look and chided, "This is Mr. Carson we're talking about, not Charlie. As if he'd ever be anything but proper."

"So what have the two of you been getting up to in here at night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well a few nights ago you came out of his pantry, smirking like the cat that got the cream, to fetch him a glass of water," Mrs. Patmore said suggestively. "What had him so parched, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes could not hide the look of unsettled mirth from her face. If it had been anyone else, her housekeeper persona would have saved her; after all, the stark and stern female head of staff could dial down anyone else daring to dig into her business. But she and Beryl Patmore had been through so much over the years. From their feuding over the store cupboard key, to fears only another woman could understand, to a wandering-handed suitor, to laughs too giddy to be modest, and pushes into futures that once seemed impossible—this pair became allied in work as well as life. Mrs. Hughes simply could not hide some things from her dear friend.

"All right," Mrs. Hughes started, "but you have to keep it between us."

"Who am I gonna tell?!" the cook replied slightly offended.

"Oh you may not tell a thing outright, but I wouldn't put it past you to tease poor Mr. Carson and I'm the one'll have to deal with it," Mrs. Hughes said with reproof.

Mrs. Patmore pursed her lips and nodded. "Ya all right," she conceded.

"Not a word, Mrs. Patmore…"

"Yes, yes. I'll behave myself. Go on then," the cook urged, quite interested.

Mrs. Hughes revealed some of the conversation between herself and Mr. Carson. The gist of which was their marriage would be one of love, and not just in holding hands and sharing bedrooms, but in all manner of activity married couples are sanctioned to enjoy.

"I'm a bit nervous about it all really," the housekeeper revealed. "I mean, how will it be between us? I'm just an old spinster. Old hands, old hair, old…from my shirt to my shift," she said covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

Mrs. Patmore brought her chair closer to her friend and grabbed her hands to comfort her, "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, don't beat yourself up like that. You've got nothing to fret about."

Mrs. Patmore knew there was no servant more prim than Elsie Hughes. Sure she had a fire in her that shown through now and then with her quick wit and occasional plotting, but at her core she was moral and virtuous. Mrs. Patmore wondered what kind of experience her friend actually had in the physical aspects of things.

"I mean, you've nearly been engaged twice before!" Mrs. Patmore pointed out. "Surely you got up to something interesting for having a man come back and ask you for your hand after he'd been refused."

Mrs. Hughes regretted ever revealing that particular piece of her past with her friend. But it was shared over tea just after the ordeal with Mr. Tufton at the Thirsk fair. Sharing battle wounds seemed appropriate.

"Joe and I didn't get up to anything…well anything like that anyway."

Mrs. Patmore stared at her friend expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?" the housekeeper asked slightly annoyed.

"What exactly did you and Joe get up to?"

Mrs. Hughes stood. "Mrs. Patmore, I think that's enough for one day. I've got to get back to work. I'll help you clear up," she replied stiffly and gestured to their tea things at the table.

Mrs. Patmore grabbed Mrs. Hughes' hands and yanked her back down to her desk chair. "Elsie Hughes, I am just trying to help." Mrs. Patmore gave her a look normally reserved for silly kitchen maids that burned her broth. "So, let's start again, perhaps with a simpler question. When was the last time you kissed someone?"

"That's you're idea of a simple question?" Mrs. Hughes sputtered.

"I'm not asking for details, just a general time or place. Surely you can share that with me," Mrs. Patmore said now equally annoyed. "It doesn't matter how long ago…or how recent," the cook said suggestively.

"That's just it," Mrs. Hughes said quietly.

The cook had a mischievous grin and said, "Oh, so Charlie boy's been snogging-"

"Mrs. Patmore, if you call him Charlie boy or anything of that ilk again I'm going to-"

"All right, don't get your hackles up."

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. "I cannot answer your question."

"Why not?" the cook asked, exasperated.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged her shoulders and revealed, "Because I've never kissed anyone, not on the lips anyway."

Mrs. Patmore was taken aback. "But that man came back for you?"

"Well, I think Joe was rather fond of me. I mean he wanted to marry me after all. Isn't that enough?" Mrs. Hughes replied simply. "But we only ever held hands and shared a few dances. Nothing sordid."

"And what about you and Mr. Carson lately? You can't tell me nothing's been going on."

"Well not nothing. I don't live in a sack" Mrs. Hughes chided. "I mean there's usually a kiss to my hand or my hair when he walks me up the stairs. And last night, well, he managed to kiss my cheek," she said airily.

"I see," Mrs. Patmore began with a slight eye-roll. "You know wars have been fought and won in less time it's taken the two of you to get to it."

"Oh, I shouldn't have told you," Mrs. Hughes said aggravated with the cook.

"Now calm down. I'm sorry," Mrs. Patmore replied. "I am. I said I was going to help, not make you cross." She paused for a moment then continued, "So, you've never been kissed _on the lips_ , and Charl-"

Mrs. Hughes gave the severest look possible.

"And Mr. Carson," Mrs. Patmore corrected, "hasn't quite landed on the mark yet either."

The two women sat quietly for a moment, each lost in thought. One debating whether she was happy or sad that her fiancée had not kissed her properly; worried that when they did it wouldn't be everything either hoped it would be. The other thinking of a rather simple solution.

"All right, let's have a go then," the cook said abruptly, scooting her chair closer to her friend.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Mrs. Hughes said leaning back.

"It's no big deal," Mrs. Patmore said exasperated. "When I was a young kitchen maid and someone actually got to walk out with a boy, well, it was quite common to practice this sort of thing on each other. I assume you housemaids got up to it too?"

"We did not!" Mrs. Hughes said vehemently.

"Maybe kitchen maids are more handsy?" Mrs. Patmore looked thoughtful. "But never mind all that. You're worried about that kiss with Mr. Carson, and the other things. I'm just saying, maybe it would help if you knew what it was like. The kissing that is, the _other_ things you'll have to figure out on your own."

Mrs. Hughes was always good at sizing up a situation quickly, but this revelation had her stymied. On one hand, kissing another woman…she heard the vicar in her head going on about brimstone at the suggestion. But at the same time, Beryl was her friend and she did trust her. After all, the woman had already felt her breast in her hour of need; this seemed somewhat inane compared to that.

"All right," Mrs. Hughes replied.

There was a silence in which neither woman seemed to breathe. Mrs. Patmore knew as this was her idea she'd have to make the first move as it were. _Best just get on with it then_ , she thought to herself.

The cook suddenly thrust forward and planted a quick kiss to her friend's lips. Mrs. Hughes leaned back not expecting Mrs. Patmore to just lunge at her as she did. It was more of a face banging into another than a kiss. Nevertheless, the deed was done.

"Well?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Well…I don't see Mr. Carson attacking me quite like that," Mrs. Hughes said with a smirk.

"Well then he's not doing it right," the cook shot back, causing both women to giggle.

Mrs. Hughes thought about how silly this all was—the wedding, the nerves. She never had a problem sharing things with Mr. Carson, why these things all of a sudden? Then again, this was different. Mrs. Hughes could always handle Mr. Carson, but Elsie wasn't sure she could bare everything to Charles. But oh she wanted to. She wanted to know his lips on hers and everything thereafter. This thought brought her back to her current interactions with her friend.

Emboldened she asked with a hint of hesitation, "Could we try again? Just a bit slower, mind you. I'd like to keep my own teeth thank you very much."

This time, both women leaned forward and very sweetly and chastely kissed. Nothing hurried, nor passion-inducing. It just was.

"Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, suddenly entering her parlor. He came up short on the sight before him.

The two women hopped away from each other into their chairs, matching mortified expressions on their faces. Mrs. Hughes brought a hand to her mouth with a sharp inhale, afraid of the butler's reaction. Meanwhile he just stood there trying to process what he just saw.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mrs. Patmore stood and gathered the tea things. She shot Mrs. Hughes a worried look unsure if abandoning her friend was the right thing to do, but if anyone was going to survive Mr. Carson's fallout it would be the housekeeper and not the cook. Mr. Carson seemed frozen as she walked past. He only shared the briefest glance with Mrs. Patmore showing his disbelief and a touch of anger before she ambled away to the safety of her kitchen.

"I uhm," Mr. Carson started, "I'm going to Ripon for a few errands. I may not be back for the gong and informed Mr. Barrow."

Mrs. Hughes nodded in return then moved to stand. "Mr. Carson," she said quietly, "what you saw…well it was-"

"I know what I saw, Mrs. Hughes," he interrupted, his tone giving way to his ire. "There's nothing you can say to explain away what I just saw."

Mrs. Hughes took a few steps toward him and put her hand out to take his, "Please, let me try to-"

But the butler moved away from her, now standing nearly into the hall. "I think not, Mrs. Hughes. Not right now. I'd better get on. I told his lordship I would be back for the dinner service and some of us have to keep our word around here."

His comment cut her deeply. She was stunned as he turned to leave. She couldn't move even though her body was aching to run after him. When she did find her feet she rushed to the back door but he had already made it out of the yard. She ran to the wall and looked down the path. The wind whipped at her face as she saw his form barreling toward the village.

"Mr. Carson!" she cried out. "Charles, please!"

But he just moved further and further away. Mrs. Hughes leaned heavily against the stone wall and covered her face as tears sprang to her eyes. She focused on him, willed him to look back. Sometimes when they were in a crowded room one could feel the eyes of the other, somehow sending a message that the other was needed. She just watched him stomp away, wishing he could hear her as he had all those times before.

He did not turn around.

-CE-

Mr. Carson was angry and confused. He turned the scene over and over in his mind. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were kissing. It was unreal. Why? When? Is this the first time? He was sure his fiancée was keen to growing intimacies between them, so why would she be kissing someone else, and a woman on top of that? Unsettled, there was no other word for Mr. Carson's state but unsettled. So much so that he passed the bus stop as he charged down to the village, missing the first available bus.

So now he trudged through Ripon an hour behind and looking for this establishment Mr. Barrow hinted at as having potential as a whiskey supplier. He finally came upon it down a side street, very out of the way. _Not a smart place to put a business_ , Mr. Carson thought.

Upon entering, Mr. Carson walked in to find a large man standing behind the bar setting out glassware.

"Excuse me," Mr. Carson said getting the man's attention. "I'm here to see the proprietor."

"You're a bit early aren't ya, mate," the man replied gruffly.

Mr. Carson shot the man a look letting him know he really wasn't in the mood for bandying about. "I believe I have an appointment and I am actually slightly late. A Mr. Barrow made the arrangement."

"Barrow, eh," the man said with a smirk. "Oh you're that one. You must be something special."

"I beg your pardon," Mr. Carson shot back. "Can you kindly show me to the office of someone in authority?"

"Upstairs, first door on the left," the man said with a smirk. "You'll find her _office_ there."

Mr. Carson noticed a staircase just behind the bar and went up. He couldn't tell if the conversation with the barman was off somehow or he was still in a bewildered state from earlier. Perhaps a bit of both. Reaching the landing he noticed several doors and made his way to the left.

He knocked on the first door and heard a woman's voice from within say, "Come in."

Entering the room, Mr. Carson experienced a moment of disorientation. There, at a desk with her back to him, sat a woman with deep auburn hair neatly pulled back and wearing a black dress. She was apparently scribbling in a ledger of some sort. The sight was all too familiar, having walked in on Mrs. Hughes in a similar way many times.

Without turning around, the woman spoke again in a Scottish accent, "Come in Mr. Carson. I've been expecting you."

Mr. Carson was rooted to his spot just inside the door and made no move to enter further. When the woman didn't hear his footfalls, she turned around. The woman was slight and fair as his Mrs. Hughes, but this woman wore quite a bit of coloring on her lips and cheeks. Her eyes were dark as well, not like his Elsie's.

Mr. Carson returned from his stunned state. "I beg your pardon. I must have the wrong office," he said, turning to leave.

The woman stood and walked toward him. "As I said, Mr. Carson, I've been expecting you. Mr. Barrow said you'd be here at three o'clock, and that you were a punctual man. So I am a bit surprised as it's near on half an hour later and here you are. I thought you changed your mind."

Mr. Carson looked a bit ashamed at that. "Yes, well I missed the bus earlier. If you'll forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, Mr. Carson. May I take your coat?" she asked moving behind him to close the door.

"No, actually, I am afraid I'll have to cut this appointment short. I have to get back to the house. So if we could just get down to business that would be best."

"Mr. Barrow seemed to think you'd need convincing, Mr. Carson. But if you insist on just getting to business…" the woman said as she moved in front of the butler and started undoing the top buttons of her dress.

Mr. Carson was overrun with shock, from his jaw to his eyebrows. "What on earth are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to get on with it. Well then I won't need this dress. Though why your friend thought you'd prefer me in black, I'll never know."

"Prefer you how?"

The woman looked at the clearly flummoxed man with curiosity. She dealt with nervous customers before, but this man was downright skittish. She spoke slowly and carefully. "Mr. Carson, what sort of business did you expect to handle here?"

"Mr. Barrow said you had good whiskey at a fair price, and we might consider using you as a supplier."

"I see," the woman said as she smiled kindly. "Well I do think we have a fine selection of whiskey, but that's not really the inventory I am known for."

"Oh?"

"My name is Madame Mills, and as congratulations on your engagement, your friend paid for an hour of my time." The woman hoped this would be enough to hint at her dealings.

Mr. Carson, having been shocked too many times today, wasn't quite catching on. "Time for what?"

The woman took the butler's arm and turned him slightly to get a full view of the rest of the room which included an armoire, ornate chairs and wall hangings, and of course a rather large four poster bed with gauzy curtains surrounding it. "Mr. Carson, this is a brothel and I am the matron. This is the _business_ I am in."

Mr. Carson's eyes shot about the room. "Oh good Lord," he muttered as all color drained from his face.

Then, everything went black.

-CE-

Mrs. Hughes locked herself in her sitting room after coming in from the yard. Mrs. Patmore knocked but was met with a firm dismissal. Things obviously went bad, but the cook wondered just how bad; had she messed up her best friend's chance for a happy ending? Mrs. Patmore went back to her kitchen and shared some worried looks with Daisy before telling everyone to get back to work.

The servants went about their duties unsure why the butler stormed out, the housekeeper strangely shut herself away, and the cook was as tense as an overdone chicken. The mystery actually made everyone work extra hard; because despite not knowing what was going on with their senior staff, accidently getting caught in the crossfire would be quite unfortunate.

The afternoon became later and the servants flitted in and out of the hall for their tea. Daisy came back into the kitchen and walked apprehensively up to Mrs. Patmore.

"Uhm, Mrs. Patmore," she said.

"What is it, Daisy?" the cook responded irritably as she sat at her desk.

"It's just, I heard Thomas saying something, and well, I think he's planning to play a joke on Mr. Carson."

Mrs. Patmore jerked her head up. Thomas sticking his foot in the mix of what is an already strained situation would not help. "What's he up to?" she asked.

"I don't know exactly," Daisy replied gripping her apron. "I heard him tell Andy it had something to do with him sending Mr. Carson to Ripon."

"That boy had better hope it's nothing too crass or I'll have his head," Mrs. Patmore said as she stood and rushed to the hall.

Mr. Barrow noticed the annoyed cook upon her entrance to the hall. She walked over to him and Andy, hands on hips. "Out with it, Thomas, I haven't got all day," she said sternly.

"Why Mrs. Patmore, whatever to do mean?" he asked with faux innocence.

"You know what I mean," she said her face reddening.

"Actually I don't. I have just been here taking over Mr. Carson's duties while he's off doing Lord knows what in Ripon," he said with a smirk.

"The Lord may know, but so does a little weasel like you, so out with it!"

Mr. Barrow merely sat there and took a sip of his tea.

Seeing that she was going to get nowhere with the underbutler she set her sights on the new footman. "Listen here, boy," Mrs. Patmore said leaning over the lad, "I am in no mood for antics or shows right now. I have a knife collection that needs sharpening and your hide will do just as fine as any strap."

The look on the cook's face was too unnerving for the footman and he broke under her gaze. "He sent him to a brothel in Ripon!" he blurted out.

"What?!" Mrs. Patmore roared, turning on Thomas; the underbutler shaking his head in disappointment at his protégé's lack of nerve.

This caught the attention of Mr. and Mrs. Bates who were sitting at the end of the table across from Andy.

"What's this?" Mr. Bates inquired.

Mrs. Patmore leaned over and whispered, "Thomas thought he would put a lark on Mr. Carson and sent him to a house of lust."

Mr. Bates shot the underbutler a disapproving glare while Anna gasped.

"You sent Mr. Carson to a…place like that," the young lady whispered harshly. "The poor man probably had a heart attack."

"Come now, Mrs. Bates, they would have telephoned by now if that'd happened," Mr. Barrow said slightly cheerful. "What surprises me is why he isn't back yet. It's nearly four o'clock. I expected him to have a shock and ramble back here to throttle me. Yet, he's not returned. Perhaps he's got himself a bit sidetracked."

Mrs. Patmore was incensed. With unsuspecting agility, she flipped the scheming man's teacup from the saucer, hot tea spilling all over him and running down the front of his pristine livery.

"You'd better hope nothing sordid is going on or I'll have his and your head," the cook threatened while Thomas struggled to get out of the chair.

"Maybe I should go retrieve him," Mr. Bates said. "After all, he had several errands to run for his lordship on my behalf. He may not have made it there yet."

Mrs. Patmore waived off the valet. "No, I'll go."

"You?" Andy said skeptically.

Mrs. Patmore smacked the boy on the back of the head. "Yes, me" she said sharply. Then a bit more soberly continued, "Besides, I think he and I need to talk."

-CE-

Mr. Carson felt a terrible ache from his head to his backside. He tried to remember if he took a tumble after dinner service last night, but no. He had an early night, sherry with Mrs. Hughes, walked her to the door to the women's side of the attics, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. _What happened,_ he wondered, and started grasping for memories.

 _Kiss. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore kissing. Going to Ripon. The woman taking off her dress._

The last thought made his eyes shoot open to see the top of a bed covered in elaborate curtains and he sensed he was atop a very comfortable blanket. _I'm in a bed…in a brothel!_

He jolted upward and a hand shot out to touch his arm. "Careful there, Mr. Carson, wouldn't want you to have a relapse," Madame Mills said gently.

He struggled to rise. "Good Lord," he said as he stood at the foot of the bed, quite wobbly.

"Not that again. Mr. Carson, I love the Lord same as you but he ain't gonna save you from falling over like a dainty damsel in my room."

Mr. Carson looked around the room and it was just as startling as he remembered. He fell into a rather large chair and leaned over, his head between his legs.

Madame Mills brought him a cup of tea to try and steady him. "Here you go, then. Drink up."

"What's this?" he asked still woozy.

"It's tea, Mr. Carson. It'll help you find your legs again," she said kindly. "And if the tea doesn't work, the whiskey I put in will."

Mr. Carson took a long drink and could feel the generous amount of alcohol the matron added. It was very much needed.

The woman retrieved her own tea and returned to sit next to the butler. He noticed she had changed into more risqué attire while he was incapacitated. He gaped as his eyes roamed over the woman wearing nothing but her underthings, stockings, and an ornate robe.

"I'm sure you disapprove, Mr. Carson, but it's about to be evening soon and I've got to don a uniform, same as you." Madame Mills adjusted her robe to cover as much of her legs as possible.

Mr. Carson looked down, slightly ashamed. "Of course, don't mind me. I'd best get back to the house, especially if it's so late."

The woman patted his arm and said, "Finish your drink, Mr. Carson. Let's get you steady first."

Steady. Mr. Carson was anything but steady and had been since he asked his best friend to become his wife. This afternoon's shock was one of several curiosities that have revealed themselves over the past several weeks. Who knew one little question and answer could wreak such havoc? He needed steadiness, desperately. But the only one to ever make him steady was also the person who had him off kilter.

Quite suddenly, there was some shouting outside in the hall and heavy footfalls making their way to the door. In burst Mrs. Patmore followed by the barman from earlier. "And you can kiss my cleaver!" she yelled at the man following her. She looked about the room and found the butler and matron sitting stunned with tea cups in midair. "What the devil are you doing?" she yelled at the butler.

This would not be the first time an angry woman came looking for her man in this bedroom. The matron stood and addressed the irate cook, "You must be the bride-to-be."

Mr. Carson stood with a guffaw. "Hardly."

"Oh, well then how can I help you, Madame?" the matron asked.

"No help needed, thank you very much. Just came to get this oaf home so he can fix the heart he broke!" she roared at the butler.

He raised his shoulders. "I broke her heart?" he countered. "She didn't find me in a questionable position this afternoon."

Mrs. Patmore was not faltered. "What do you call this?" she said looking about the room.

Mr. Carson paused for a moment then said firmly, "A misunderstanding."

Mrs. Patmore was in full form now. "Oh yea, you've been gone a long time, Charlie boy. Barrow thought you'd have run from here by now. But I come here to try and waive you off, but instead I find you getting cozy with this, this…"

"Prostitute," that matron said plainly, clearly not disturbed by the riling woman.

"That!" Mrs. Patmore said.

"Just like the two of you have been getting cozy," he shot back.

"I've never met this woman in my life," the cook shouted.

"Not her," he gestured to the woman at his right. "Mrs. Hughes! The two of you were kissing," he said accusingly.

Mrs. Patmore took a breath. "We were."

"Thank you for not denying it," he said grimly, and moved to grab his coat and hat that lay on a chest at the foot of the bed. "That's that then," he said walking passed the cook.

"Mr. Carson, as you so smartly put it, it's a misunderstanding," the cook shouted, but Mr. Carson did not turn around. She continued, "She was nervous about you finally kissing her proper, amongst other things."

This brought the butler up short. He turned and bore a skeptical look on Mrs. Patmore. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Carson," she said gently, "you know Mrs. Hughes as this stalwart woman that gets things done in a graceful but quiet manner. A woman who never really complains and never shows weakness, especially to you. Or have you forgotten?"

How could he forget…the cancer scare. She didn't want him to know. She hid it from him. They never discussed why she kept it from him. But thinking on it, it would be for the same reason he would probably never share such a thing with her—to never let her see him so vulnerable, to only have her see him as confident and strong.

"She has been working her whole life and never done a questionable thing I can think of," Mrs. Patmore continued. "There's no more dignified a person on this earth, Mr. Carson, except maybe you. She just never had any experience with that side of things."

The matron stepped toward Mrs. Patmore, taking a guess, "She wanted to know what it would be like?"

"Yes," Mrs. Patmore said simply, thankful for anyone's understanding. "She has never kissed anyone, not properly."

"But that red-faced fellow?" Mr. Carson asked.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head. "Nothing more than some hand holding Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes is quite innocent."

Mr. Carson took this revelation to heart. He remembered being a young lad wanting to kiss a milkmaid. It was nerve-wracking; pins and needles layered around a knot of uncertainty that formed in his stomach when he thought of how he would go about doing it. Agony. He sat back in his chair deflated.

Madame Mills took this opportunity to get the cook's name and suggested they all sit down and get this sorted over tea. She offered the cook her chair next to Mr. Carson and poured her a cup of tea.

"Kissing a man for the first time is a big deal for a girl," the matron said. "I don't think it matters if you're five or fifty."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "She's quite wound up about it, Mr. Carson. I mean, she wants you to be pleased with it, with her."

"She didn't know if it would be any good…if she would be any good," Madame Mills offered.

Mr. Carson pondered this. Every touch they shared since their engagement, the kisses he placed on her hand, her forehead, her cheek…which was quite risqué of him. But all these intimacies only stirred him more and more on the inside. Yearning flowed through him from his heart to his stomach, and lately to _other_ places. Why would she think she wouldn't please him?

The butler's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and the barman entering. "Sorry to interrupt, Madame. But the vicar is here."

"The vicar?" Mrs. Patmore questioned.

"Oh don't worry about that now, I'll go down and sort out Reverend…where did you say you were from?" Madame Mills asked.

"Downton Abbey," Mr. Carson answered.

"Hmm, yes. Well I'll just get the gentleman downstairs squared away," she said as she turned to leave. "And perhaps get him to change his appointment, unless he wants his flock to find out his fancy," she mumbled to herself.

Mr. Carson continued his thoughtfulness as he stared into his tea. If only the answer to all life's questions was at the bottom of a cup of tea.

Mrs. Patmore broke the silence. "Mr. Carson, I'm sorry what you saw earlier disturbed you so much. You know it's not really the norm for Mrs. Hughes or myself to do that."

"It still does not erase the image from my memory. It's quite burnt through."

"But you understand now, don't you?" Mrs. Patmore pleaded. After all, she and Charles Carson had worked alongside each other for decades as well. They may not have always been on the same side, but she cared that she had this man's respect and confidence in her. "I would never want to hurt you, or Mrs. Hughes. You two are the dearest people to me. But between you moving at a tortoise's pace to give her some attention, and her tendency to keep things close to her vest…everyone is wound rather tight," Mrs. Patmore said resolutely.

"Nothing about this engagement has been easy," the butler admitted.

"This isn't like making a bed in a new house or taking over dinner is it? Things either of you really know how to do," Mrs. Patmore offered. "On top of that, it's not like we are young flowers these days. Our bodies are not like that Madame."

"I think she's beautiful," Mr. Carson said musingly.

"That she is, but don't get yourself a wandering eye now, Charlie," Mrs. Patmore countered.

"What? Not her," he said gesturing to the door. "Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson corrected. "And stop calling me, Charlie!"

"Ya, I need to work on that," she replied.

Mr. Carson took all this in, the pieces finally falling into place. "I love Mrs. Hughes. I think you figured that out from before, when she was going through her health scare."

"Yes, it was obvious. But the view outside sometimes can be clearer than the one in," Mrs. Patmore said, very deep in thought. "Besides, we all know you love Mrs. Hughes. But what about Elsie?"

"I don't understand."

"There are times when you and she are not in agreement."

"And that's all right, we manage to get back there," he defended.

"You do, but knowing Elsie, she would never let you be in anything but agreement in the end. She's so giving, so sacrificing. As a friend who goes to her for favors, trust me I know."

Mr. Carson shot her a look. "That's very suggestive."

"Would you get your mind away from that?" Mrs. Patmore said exasperated. "It was practice. If we were young lasses, no one would bat an eye. But at our age, sure, it must be something decadent."

They were interrupted by Madame Mills' return. "My my, it doesn't look like much has changed here," she said noticing the combative nature between her visitors.

"He can't get past me kissing his fiancée, who is my best friend, I might add," Mrs. Patmore said loudly.

"She's my best friend too," he countered.

"She is at that, and she is about to be so much more, Charles Carson. And she's nervous and scared. She's like you. She wants everything to be good between you."

"But, of course it will be good." he said firmly. "It doesn't matter if she's never kissed anyone before. Her virtue only makes her more appealing to me. What matters is that it is happening between the two of us. It will be beautiful and wonderful because it's us."

The two women looked at the butler with whimsy, hearing a big stoic man say such lovely things.

The butler stood, carried away with his thoughts and looked toward the matron's desk that reminded him of his fiancée. "And I may not know everything there is to Elsie. But I want to spend the rest of my life learning. And I do love her inside and out. It's taken every ounce of restraint not to follow her up to her room at the end of the night."

"Now who's being suggestive," Mrs. Patmore smirked.

Mr. Carson turned, remembering the company he had with him. "Excuse me. That was most-"

"Proper for a man about to marry the love of his life," Madame Mills finished.

"You should tell her that, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Patmore implored. "Get back home and make your girl steady."

"Yes," he said putting on his hat with a firm pat. "I think I will."

With a quick turn he made to leave, a man with a mission.

"About bloody time," Mrs. Patmore said trailing after him.

-CE-

Mrs. Hughes spent the afternoon between tears and invoices. She allowed herself a good cry when she came in from running after Mr. Carson. She heard Mrs. Patmore wanting to comfort her, but she just wanted to be alone right now. Well alone, but for one person to make her less lonely, and she wasn't sure he would forgive her.

She knew Mr. Carson was a stickler for propriety and rules. The shock he must have felt at seeing her and the cook kissing; she understood his reaction, even if she knew there was nothing untoward going on. She hoped he would let her explain when he returned.

She had not realized how much time past until she heard orders being given in the kitchen…but that wasn't Mrs. Patmore. The housekeep left her sanctuary to find Daisy giving orders to the kitchen maids.

"I said minced," Daisy barked at one girl. "You think Old Lady Grantham can chew through celery the size of a shilling? Be off with you and get those potatoes boiling."

"Yes, Mrs. Mason," the girl said rounding the table.

"What on earth is going on here?" Mrs. Hughes asked, perplexed.

"I'll tell ya what's going on," Daisy said not looking up and taking over the mincing from the kitchen maid. "I've got farm girls thinking they're making pig slop trying to prepare a five course dinner, that's what." The assistant cook was a little unnerved having been left on her own without notice. She was so focused it took her a moment to realize to whom she was speaking.

"Daisy?" Mrs. Hughes asked sternly.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes," Daisy said looking up.

"Where is Mrs. Patmore?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Well she, uhm, uhm, went to Ripon," she replied nervously.

"Ripon? Why?"

"To get Mr. Carson."

"Oh my word," Mrs. Hughes said wringing her hands. "That woman is going to foul this all up."

"Mrs. Mason, should the sauce be this thick?" another kitchen maid asked.

Daisy saw the gelatinous mixture slide off the ladle the maid was holding. "Ya, if you're going to help the chauffer grease down the car," she said disapprovingly. She was frustrated beyond measure. Why was it so hard to make a decent béchamel?

This day felt so unreal from the start, but watching Daisy channel her inner Patmore was too much for the housekeeper. "I think I'll leave you to it then," she said as she backed out of the kitchen, not wanting to agitate the young woman further.

Mrs. Hughes was quite worried for her fiancée and her friend. After what transpired in her sitting room earlier, she wondered if there would be anything left of either of them after they tore into each other. She felt stifled thinking about the result. Tears threatened her eyes again, and she took the opportunity to run out the back door.

She gulped in the evening air, desperate for the coolness to calm her. After a few long breaths she walked to the edge of the yard, to the wall she leaned on earlier when Mr. Carson stormed off in all his rage. Maybe this was all a mistake? There seems to be this or that coming up to worry them or call into question their feelings. Is fate trying to warn them off?

The thought crossed her mind as she noticed two figures walking up from the village—one tall and stout with determined strides, and the other one small and bobbing along trying to keep up. As they got closer she stepped off the wall into the light from the house's lanterns.

Mr. Carson noticed her first and stopped, causing Mrs. Patmore to run into him. The cook leaned over grateful for the respite, then looked to see her friends staring straight at each other.

"Good luck, Mr. Carson," the cook offered.

As Mrs. Patmore walked passed Mrs. Hughes she offered the housekeeper a comforting touch to her arm and a smile. "It'll be all right, don't you worry," she said then continued into the house.

The couple stared at each other motionless, both terrified to speak despite knowing they each had quite a bit to say. The look of trepidation on their faces was mirrored by the other; this was going to be an awkward conversation.

Mrs. Hughes found her bravery first and stepped closer to the butler. The movement roused Mr. Carson from his hesitation and he blurted out, "I went to a brothel."

This stalled the housekeeper's progress an arm's length away from her fiancée. "I see," she said, waiting to see if he would say anything more. When he did not, she asked, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Not really, no" the butler replied. "I collapsed."

"My my, Mr. Carson," the housekeeper said her ire bubbling. "You must have given it all you had."

"What?" he stammered. "No, it was a ruse. Mr. Barrow sent me there under a guise. When I realized what the business was about, well I…I fainted," he said embarrassed.

Mrs. Hughes was worn and her emotional and mental state had swung from euphoria to despair to confusion all day, and now this. It was too much. She let out a barking sound before covering her face with her hands.

Mr. Carson noticed her body shaking and was scared he'd made her cry. He rushed to her and put his hands on her arms. "Elsie, please, I promise nothing happened. You can ask Mrs. Patmore," he said hoping she'd believe him.

He tugged her hands away from her face to reveal tears and a smile. Then with great bursts of air, Mrs. Hughes laughed hysterically in his face.

"I have to say, this was not the reaction I expected," Mr. Carson said, hopeful but frightened.

Mrs. Hughes tried to calm herself and wrapped her arms around her man. "Oh, Charles," she managed to say between her chortling, "I have to laugh to keep from crying. How ridiculous this whole thing has been!"

Mr. Carson still was not sure of his fiancée's stability and held her tight. "We are a mess aren't we," he offered. "How is it we can manage this house and its cabinet of characters, but you and I seem bound to bumble up something that should be so simple."

"What's that exactly?" she asked into his coat.

He pulled her back and looked her in the eyes. He put his hands on her face to wipe away the tears continuing to flow. "She looked like you, you know," he said.

"Who did?"

"The matron of the…establishment I visited this afternoon."

"Charles, I'm not sure comparing me to a woman of that sort is a compliment," she said with a slight warning in her tone.

"She didn't have your eyes," he said simply.

"What?" Mrs. Hughes asked confused.

"Barrow must have done his homework. He happened to find a woman who was slight and fair, like you. Had similar hair, though not nearly as tidy as yours," he said, gaining him a smile from his fiancée.

He saw this as a good sign and continued. "He had her wear a black dress like yours. Although your curves," he said, sliding his hands down her arms to her waist. "Well it may be improper for me to say, but to hell with that right now. I find your curves much more enticing."

Mrs. Hughes felt his hands grasp her waste and pull her closer, sobering the woman from her earlier hysterics.

"Yes, it was all very well-planned by Mr. Barrow," he continued, his voice getting deeper and softer with each word. "But you see, even if I had found her anywhere near as alluring as you, it would have been for naught."

"Oh," was all she managed to say, mesmerized by her man.

"Your eyes, my dear Elsie, well there is nothing so beautiful, so magnetic as the deep blue of your eyes. Stormy as you are fiery, and as rich as the best Margeaux. And your eyes reveal a soul so true and kind and giving. It's your soul; it's you I'm in love with, Elsie. Not any one physical part of you, but all of you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled gloriously at him, "My dear sweet man," she whispered.

He smiled back at her and sighed. "Mrs. Patmore told me you were nervous, about our getting closer. That's why you and she were carrying on as you were."

"You know, it didn't mean anything, not like that-" she implored.

"I know," he said warmly. "Just as I spent the afternoon in a dubious locale and for which you would have every right to rake me over the coals."

"Quite right, Charles Carson," Mrs. Hughes said in mock condemnation. "I have it on good authority your future wife will not find such antics favorable."

"So long as mine are the only lips she kisses from here on out," he countered, wrapping his arm around her back bringing her flush against him.

"Deal," she said airily with a smile, his proximity filling her with warmth.

"But I want you to know, Elsie, I've not kissed you properly not in spite of my feelings but because of them," he said with sheer honesty. "I desire you very much. So much that if we kiss I fear I may lose all sense of decorum, and I dare not overwhelm you with my lack of restraint."

"Charles, we are to be married," she said simply.

"Yes."

"In just over a week after years of self-prescribed loneliness," she said running her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm acutely aware," he said, his grip on her waist tightening.

She stretched up to whisper, "Then by all means, overwhelm me."

The words were barely off her lips as his crashed down on hers. The butler and housekeeper have had a slow-burning romance, but nothing could prepare them for the fire that coursed through them at this moment. She let out a whimper as one of his hands made its way into her hair, knocking several pins loose, while the other encircled her waste. He sighed when her hand made it to his neck, pulling slightly to the hairs there as she was desperate to hold onto him.

They broke apart slightly to breathe and Mr. Carson took this opportunity to ask, "Better than Beryl?"

Mrs. Hughes chuckled, "Oh, much better than Beryl."

"Don't you forget it," he said smugly.

"Oh I think I could do with a reminder or two," she countered saucily.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Hughes, with pleasure," he said before seizing her lips again, and again, and again.

-CE-

 **A/N: So my husband noticed I didn't apologize for chapter three being so long, and with this one being even longer, I don't see the point anymore. I hope you all enjoyed it. Chelsie on!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: SPOILERS!**

 **I meant to have this done before the Series 6 premiere, but I got terribly busy at work. The happenings of Episode 1 and 2 have re-landscaped some of this, but in a good way. Thank you all who continue to read and thank you to all the fic writers for the one-shots and ficlets that have popped up with Season 6—they've been a joy to read. Please enjoy this last installment.**

 **Repartee**

The night before Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were to marry, she sat in her sitting room with Mrs. Patmore sipping samples from two bottles of claret. Apparently the only detail that Lady Mary did not have in hand was the wine selection for their reception and it was left for Mr. Carson to choose what he'd prefer. But Mr. Carson was very unexpectedly strong-armed into having a drink with Mr. Bates, Mr. Molesley, and surprisingly Mr. Branson who had managed to make it back in time to celebrate their special day.

"Oh come on, Mr. Carson," Mr. Branson had urged that afternoon, "it's a tradition. Surely you wouldn't dare turn up your nose at that."

This logic along with some prodding by his fiancée had Mr. Carson begrudgingly agreeing to the impromptu stag night and he left Mr. Barrow and Andy in charge of the dinner service. The small matter of the wine came up as he was leaving and he suddenly remembered he had not yet made a decision. He implored Mrs. Hughes to do it, despite her reticence to be involved in any planning beyond the ceremony. Since the whole debacle with Lady Mary championing for the reception to be held at the Abbey, and Mr. Carson's entreaty to its importance to him, Mrs. Hughes threw her hands up about the whole thing and stayed out of the decision-making, relegating all of it to her fiancée.

In all honesty, it hurt Mrs. Hughes that Mr. Carson could not see why she wanted the reception in a neutral location, so that everyone could enjoy themselves in a relaxed atmosphere instead of being on call to perform their duty. But in the end, she just wanted to be married. Fighting Lady Mary tooth and nail would only spoil the couple's mood and that seemed just as bleak as calling the whole thing off. So, to keep the peace and get on with it, Mrs. Hughes just let it be.

"I have to say, I don't mind that Lady Mary actually fouled up this little detail," Mrs. Patmore said, taking a long drink from her second glass of claret. "This is quite good."

Mrs. Hughes was only sipping at the samples, not wanting to overdo it and show up wobbly to her own wedding. "This is from his lordship's cellar. What did you expect?" she asked.

"Well, I think I like this second one better," the cook answered finishing her glass.

"Mrs. Patmore, something tells me you'd like it no matter what I chose," the housekeeper said with a smirk.

"Well, you've got me there," Mrs. Patmore said standing up a little shaky. "Woo!"

"Careful," Mrs. Hughes said putting a hand on her friend's elbow for stability.

"No worries, I've got good sea legs, Mrs. Hughes," the cook said waving off her friend. "You sit there, I've got something for you," she continued as she went to the kitchen to retrieve a box from under her desk.

"Mrs. Patmore, you didn't have to do that," Mrs. Hughes chided. "You'll be preparing a beautiful menu tomorrow in my and Mr. Carson's honor, that's more than enough."

"Nonsense," the cook said. "It's an honor to cook for such a special occasion, trust me. But this," she said lifting the box and handing it the housekeeper, "well, this is something special for you because…well I never had a sister, or anyone really, to get something like this for. And I just wanted to add to your happiness, as my dearest friend."

Mrs. Hughes had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. I am touched, truly. And very grateful to have you as my friend."

"Go on then, save your tears for tomorrow," Mrs. Patmore said wiping her own eyes and urging her friend to open the gift.

Mrs. Hughes set the box down on her desk and opened it. Underneath several layers of paper, creamy silk shown through. "Mrs. Patmore, that isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"You haven't even seen all of it, yet," the cook said opening up the paper and drawing out a full-length negligee trimmed and embellished with lace. It was quite proper; something Lady Grantham would wear on any night. But the sight and thought behind the gift had Mrs. Hughes blushing deeply.

"I can't wear that!"

"Why not, I'm sure Mr. Carson would appreciate it," the cook said with a smirk.

"Mrs. Patmore! I know he and I have settled things on that score, but this is a bit much."

"You're right it is. It cost me half a week's wages."

"I can't accept-"

"Elsie Hughes, you bloody well can!" Mrs. Patmore scolded.

Mrs. Hughes was about to continue her retort when a gentle knock had both women scrambling to shove the salacious item back into its box.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Lady Mary asked entering the room.

"Yes, my lady," Mrs. Hughes said.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Oh don't mind me, milady. I was just leaving," Mrs. Patmore said gathering up the parcel and walked to the door. "I'll just pack this away for you, for tomorrow," the cook said with a wink behind Lady Mary's back.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," the housekeeper replied chagrined.

"I see Carson delegated this chore to you," Lady Mary said gesturing to the open bottles of wine.

"It's not really a chore, my lady. It is my wedding after all," Mrs. Hughes replied with only the slightest bit of sass.

"Of course," Lady Mary said. "It's just that I know you've preferred Carson to handle all this and I didn't mean to impose on your other preparations."

"Well the two of you have it well in hand," Mrs. Hughes said looking at one of the wine bottles. "And I'm just the bride."

"I won't pretend that you and I have ever seen eye to eye, Mrs. Hughes," the young lady said haughtily, "but I think you'll agree when you see it, how wonderful it is the way we've planned everything."

"I dare say."

There really was no love lost between the two women, a point that sat sourly for both, but more so for Mrs. Hughes. She did no resent the care Mr. Carson had for Lady Mary; she wasn't selfish enough to demand his entire being be devoted to her. But this whole wedding business just went to show that in some ways Lady Mary would be ahead of her. While she didn't mind sharing the man's heart, she did mind where she sat in priority.

She shook her head to rid these melancholy thoughts. This was why she stood back and let the butler and lady sort it all out. It only cast a shadow on what should be a beautiful and wonderful thing and she wanted to keep the peace.

"I think this one," Mrs. Hughes managed to say as she put down the bottle, the same that Mrs. Patmore suggested.

"May I try?" Lady Mary asked.

Mrs. Hughes poured out samples and the young woman took a sip of each.

"I'm not sure," she said lifting the other bottle, "this one is a bit more polished."

Mrs. Hughes raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yes, I think it's a bit more refined."

"Really."

 _Oh to hell with peace,_ the housekeeper thought to herself and poured a generous share of the wine into her glass and threw it back in one go.

"Oh yes, I do see what you mean," Mrs. Hughes said, her throat burning but revealing no sting. Then she took the bottle she preferred and Lady Mary's glass and filled it full. "But you know, this one has a much stronger accent," she continued, her brogue strong. "Why not have another go at this one, my lady."

Lady Mary looked wide-eyed at the housekeeper. It was clear she was being challenged, and it was not in her nature to back down from such a thing. So with a swift flip of her wrist she downed the proffered glass.

"All right there, my lady?" the housekeeper asked.

The young woman took a moment and a slow breath to ensure she'd have a voice. "Fine, I still think the other."

"You know I was a bit quick with pressing my opinion earlier," Mrs. Hughes said, pouring another helping of Lady Mary's preference into her own glass. "I'm a woman with an open mind. Perhaps I need to give refinement another try" she said, then swallowed it down and firmly placed her goblet on the table. "No, I'm really not accustomed to it, my lady."

Lady Mary was treading on dangerous ground. She may be used to sipping wine at the dinner table, or imbibing the occasional cocktail. But drinking so quickly, and with a Scot, would most likely not end in her favor. Still, she was a stubborn thing and so she poured a portion of Mrs. Hughes' wine into her glass.

"I agree, Mrs. Hughes, it may not be your cup of tea, or wine in this case. But surely Mr. Carson would prefer the best possible," Lady Mary said and knocked back the claret. She took a breath and continued, "Style and show, that's what would make him happy. And you do mean to make him happy, don't you Mrs. Hughes?"

The housekeeper took pause there. It was like a slap in the face. Of course, she wanted Mr. Carson to be happy. His happiness would be the most important thing to her for the rest of their lives, even more than it had already been. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the final straw. Either way, she had enough.

"I can't imagine doing anything else, my lady," the housekeeper replied evenly. Then with narrowing eyes continued, "But what about you, do you want Mr. Carson happy?"

"Of course, I do," the lady replied sternly.

"By putting me and him against each other?"

"I don't know what you mean. And I think we should stop the charade and just speak plainly," Lady Mary said, feeling the warmth of the wine spreading through her.

"My lady, I don't think you want that," Mrs. Hughes retorted.

"No! No, 'my lady' right now," the other woman said firmly. "You don't like me very much, Mrs. Hughes, and I've never had warm feelings for you either. But I'm trying to do the right thing by Carson, and after all he's done for me, for this family, honoring him with every glam I can offer is the least he deserves."

Mrs. Hughes stared at the other woman in shock, keeping her mouth shut tight. However petulant Lady Mary's words were, Mrs. Hughes believed the lady wanted the best for Mr. Carson. She knew her fiancée liked style and show and she had dismissed all of it early on. He did see the Crawleys as his family, he said so all those years ago, and making a fuss was their way. He wanted to please them, as always. She couldn't fault him for that and couldn't fault Lady Mary for wanting to make that happen. But was she so wrong to want her downstairs family equally happy? Mrs. Hughes turned to the table and poured another measure of wine and guzzled it down.

"Enough of this Mrs. Hughes, I'm not going to go round for round with you as if we were sailors in a pub."

"Oh you wouldn't last if you did, you uppity minx" Mrs. Hughes replied aloud, though not meaning to.

Lady Mary looked stunned. Perhaps the wine had gone to her head, but the cheek on the housekeeper amused her. "I believe that," she said with a smirk.

Mrs. Hughes realized her lips were betraying her. "I'm sorry, that was brash of me, my lady."

"Not brash. Just honest," she said. Feeling a bit uneasy she asked, "May I sit down, Mrs. Hughes? The wine was a bit too much, too quickly."

"Of course."

Lady Mary sat in the chair usually occupied by Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes thought sitting was a good idea as well. This had all gone downhill very quickly and it would do her some good to calm down a bit.

"You know the happiest day I had in this house was the day I married Matthew," the young lady revealed. "I came down the stairs and there were my father and Carson, both beaming. And instead of asking my father if he approved, I actually asked Carson if he thought I'd do. Because in so many ways he'd been on my side, even when my father was not. He's always been on my side, Mrs. Hughes, so for once I wanted to be on his."

"And I thank you for that," Mrs. Hughes replied. "Truly I do. It warms my heart to know there are others who would care for him and are as devoted to him as I am."

"Are you sure the warmth isn't just from the wine," the young woman shot back.

"No, my lady," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile. "Tomorrow I'm going to pledge my love and life to him. Just as you did with Mr. Crawley. He and I won't always agree, but I do hope he would always put me first."

"Of course he will, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary said astonished. "Carson does everything proper, and every man should put his wife first."

"But when it comes to you, I think sometimes he's conflicted. Why even back to Haxby, he was willing to put aside his happiness for yours."

Lady Mary pondered this. It was true. She knew tearing Carson away from Downton would cause him pain, yet she implored him to join her anyway. And when he found Sir Richard wanting, he rescinded his agreement to follow her and she shunned him with her cruelty. Something she quite regrets.

"So you're saying Carson is only doing this because of me? Having the reception here, I mean."

"I don't think it's just for you. I know the man I'm marrying, my lady, and he can be quite the peacock," Mrs. Hughes said causing both women to smile. "You are his family. You all are his family. But..." she paused.

"Mrs. Hughes, remember, I said we are to speak plainly," the young lady said.

"But what of my family?" Mrs. Hughes said a bit sadly. "Having the reception here will surely make it difficult for Mrs. Patmore and the lot to enjoy themselves. They'll be too busy worrying about plating a meal, or serving, or waiting to be called on. I never meant to exclude you and your family by holding the reception at the school. I was trying to find a way to include everyone. For one day, one party, one moment…our moment, mine and Mr. Carson's."

Lady Mary stared at the woman across from her. It suddenly dawned on her what Mrs. Hughes was trying to accomplish. Of course she knew there was no grander place than the Abbey, she was the housekeeper—it was her job to ensure there was no grander place. But her desire to hold the reception in a down-to-earth location was to allow for everyone's enjoyment. _Carson may be the one who puts my needs before his own, but it would seem his bride has bested him in humility,_ Lady Mary thought.

Through the pensiveness of both women loud and melodious song cut through their musings as it found its way through Mrs. Hughes' open door.

Lady Mary stood immediately to see what was going on and witnessed Tom hefting Mr. Carson through the backdoor as the butler resounded, "Dashing away with a smoothing iron, she stole my heart away!"

"Oh goodness," she commented.

"Is that Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked, rising to join the young lady at the door.

Lady Mary stepped out into the hall and pulled Mrs. Hughes door closed just as the two men ambled clumsily passed. She could feel the woman on the other side trying to pull the door open. Once the men were at the foot of the stairs she dared to open the door.

"It's him and Mr. Branson," Lady Mary relayed through the crack in the door.

"He sounds like he drank an entire cask," Mrs. Hughes said, continuing to try and open her door. "My lady, I need to tend to-"

"No," the young woman beseeched, a horrified look on her face. "Please just trust me on this. I know I have no right to ask, but do trust me. It's the night before your wedding. Don't come out here. Don't see him, not even a peak."

Mrs. Hughes was stunned by Lady Mary's vehemence, so much so, she merely nodded in agreement.

"I will tend to him, Mrs. Hughes," the woman said earnestly. "I will make it right. I will make everything right," she said as she shut the housekeeper's door and ambled over to help Tom get the butler upstairs.

In the butler's room they removed his coat, shoes, and jacket. Lady Mary turned around so Tom could wrestle the man out of his waistcoat and trousers and cover him up in bed. The young lady poured the butler some water and leaned down to help him drink.

"Lady Mary," Mr. Carson said dreamily.

"Yes, Carson, I'm here," she said tucking in the blankets around him.

"I'm so happy, my lady. Sssshhh. Don't tell anyone, but I'm going to marry Mrs. Hughes."

Lady Mary and Mr. Branson shared a smile. "That you are Mr. Carson," Mr. Branson said, "and she's mighty lucky to have you."

"Oh no, Mr. Branson, I'm the lucky one," the butler rambled on drowsily. "She is the sweetest, kindest, and most beautiful woman I know. And she's going to be my wife."

"Yes she is, Carson," Lady Mary said calmly. "Now get some rest so you can make it down the aisle all right."

"I've been terrible to her, my lady, about the wedding. I've been pigheaded and proud, and it hurts her I know."

"All will be well, Carson, I can assure you."

"What if she doesn't want me after all, my lady?" Mr. Carson asked horrified and trying to sit up. "What if all of this falls apart?"

Lady Mary placed a hand on his shoulder and reassured her staunch supporter. "Carson, I know you usually boost my confidence, but let me assure you this time. Mrs. Hughes is most definitely keen on marrying you. And everything will be made right. You'll see."

"How can you be sure?"

"She and I had a long talk this evening and-"

"You talked?" he interrupted.

"Yes, Carson, we talked. And we may have yelled a bit in there too…But the point is, I will always be on your side," she said seriously, "and to do that properly, I will have to be on hers as well. Mrs. Hughes, or rather, Mrs. Carson will always come first from now on."

Mr. Carson grinned as he eased down into his bed. "Yes she will, my lady. She certainly will," he mumbled as sleep overtook him.

Lady Mary smiled down at the butler and brushed back the curl from his forehead.

"Mary," Mr. Branson said, moving to the door of the butler's room. "I don't doubt you and Mrs. Hughes shared words, but I find it hard to believe those words were cordial."

She followed him to the door. "Well not all of them were," she admitted. "But they were direct."

"That sounds more like you…and her," he returned with a smile. "I'm glad everything's settled."

"Yes, well, not everything," she said stepping out into the corridor. "I have a plan."

-CE-

The day was a blur between the wedding followed by the reception…at the school. Somehow by sheer will and defiance that only Mary Crawley could master, everything that was to happen at the Abbey was moved to the school. From the cups to the canapés, made by Mrs. Crawley's cook with Mrs. Patmore's instructions. Even the flowers and decorations were repopulated in the warm and inviting assembly room of the Downton schoolhouse, where both the bride's and groom's family could equally take part in the celebration. It was a delightful surprise for everyone, the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Carson in particular.

It was late in the afternoon when the bride and groom made it to their house on Brounker Road where they agreed to spend a few days before returning to work. The couple spent quite a bit of time looking over all the things the estate workers had done on the house, now nearly complete. Then they ate some treats which had been delivered in a hamper earlier in the day. The couple was blissfully worn as evening approached and they prepared for bed.

Mrs. Carson sat in the bathroom brushing out her hair. She just finished bathing and taking out the elaborate hairstyle Anna had put up for her. She wore her usual dressing gown but underneath was the nightgown Mrs. Patmore gifted her. She originally thought she'd feel foolish in such a thing. The silk and lace were very fine, perhaps not the caliber worn by her ladyship, but delicate and soft all the same. It felt quite lovely against her skin and with each brush stroke her arm would graze across the front where her robe lay open. The sensation reminded her that this night would not end alone. She was a married woman, a brand new bride, and her husband was waiting for her just on the other side of that bathroom door; a thought which electrified her nerves as well as her heart. _Oh, Mr. Carson, I do hope you'll be pleased_ , she thought.

Meanwhile, Charles Carson, the proud husband was quite at work in the bedroom. He already changed into his pajamas and dressing gown and was now lighting candles at various spots in the room. He knew how nervous Elsie was about consummating their marriage. Even though she was beautiful to him he knew she may still be worried about him seeing her, all of her, for the first time. The low light was meant to mimic their many meetings in her sitting room; where only that little lamp glowed softly and made their evening chats so much more intimate than the actual subjects being discussed. Those were his favorite moments with her, and he hoped new ones would be formed here as well. Mr. Carson finished his layout and went to cut the lights in the room. The effect was instantaneous, it was exactly as he intended. _Oh my dear, Elsie, I hope you'll be pleased,_ he thought to himself.

Suddenly there was a great commotion—banging and hooting coming from outside the bedroom window.

"What the devil?" Mr. Carson muttered as he ran to see what it was.

Pushing open the curtains and looking out he could see a couple of torchlights glinting off the copper pots currently being used as drums by a small crowd of hollering hooligans. Shouts of "Oy!" "At a boy, Charlie!" and "Whoop!" were dispersed between whistles, clapping hands, and the clang of iron resounding.

Mrs. Carson jerked open the bathroom door and held tight to the top of her gown. "What on earth is going on?" she exclaimed, as she watched her husband growl and fling open their bedroom window.

"Mrs. Patmore! Thomas!" he bellowed. "How dare you…the lot of you, come here and carry on like this!"

Mrs. Carson joined him at the window and looked out to see at the edge of her garden wall, and some even on top, were most of their downstairs family. She tried not to laugh at their shenanigans, knowing it would not set well with her already raging husband.

"Oh come on, Mr. Carson, it's a tradition!" Mr. Barrow called out.

"And we know how important it is to you that we uphold standards," Daisy said sassily.

"Don't be too traditional now, Charlie, feel free to vary your technique!" Mrs. Patmore said laughing and hiccupping, having drank most of the leftover wine from the party.

"How dare you?!" Mr. Carson roared, barely overheard by the raucous troupe.

Mrs. Carson bit her lip to keep from giggling. She simply patted her husband's arm and called out, "All right, I think that's quite enough for one night. Don't forget we have to see you all back at the house, and I wouldn't put it past Mr. Carson or myself to find any number of nasty chores that need tending to!"

"I think there're some nasty chores about to get tended to tonight," the cook said loud enough for the couple to hear and setting her band of bedlam into fits of laughter.

"Beryl!" Mrs. Carson warned.

"We're just having a bit of fun," Mrs. Patmore cried back.

"This is not fun!" Mr. Carson admonished. "This is highly inappropriate and I cannot believe you would disrespect us in such a manner!"

"Don't get so worked up about it, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Patmore returned. "Save that energy for your wife," the cook continued with a giggle.

Mrs. Carson could feel her husband's ire rippling through his arms. "Mr. Carson, do stay calm," she chided, hoping he wouldn't overexert himself trying to yell at their friends instead of what they originally had planned for the evening.

Mr. Barrow noticed Mrs. Carson's worried expression from his spot atop the wall. "All right, let's let them get to it then," he called out to the group and shot a smile to the housekeeper.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Carson called back.

"Be off now you lot," he said jumping down from the wall and ushering them toward the garden gate.

"Aw, I didn't even get to bring out the dressing gong," Mr. Molesley lamented.

"Mr. Molesley if that gong is one inch out of place-" Mr. Carson threatened.

"Oh, sod it Mr. Carson!" the footman shot back as he marched unsteadily away, having had a few drinks himself.

Mr. Carson turned away from the window and strode to the bedroom door. "I cannot believe they would do this. We have neighbors not too far off who will have heard everything."

"What are you doing?" Mrs. Carson asked.

He was about to the door when he turned and replied, "I'm going down there to…"

Whatever Mr. Carson was about to say was lost upon the sight of his bride bathed in moonbeams and the warm glow of candlelight.

Not realizing his astonishment, Mrs. Carson walked to her husband and put her hand on his arm. "Don't bother with them now. They're leaving after all," she said gently.

Mr. Carson continued to stare, mesmerized. Her standing there next to him was better than any dream he ever had of this moment. Not that he dreamed of such salaciousness, at least not on purpose; but what the mind does in one's sleep cannot really be held against him can it. Obviously not, or the good Lord would not have graced him with such a beautiful visage of his wife in her bare feet, enticing negligee, and her hair cascading down her front.

Mrs. Carson realized her husband's flummox was no longer directed at their drunken interlopers, but her. She blushed and bent her head. "I best get back. I still have to plait my hair," she said quietly.

"No," Mr. Carson said in a whisper. "I mean, please don't. Will you, just for tonight, leave it down?"

Mrs. Carson looked up at her husband. "I'll wear it down anytime you like, Mr. Carson. You only ever ask."

He stepped forward and reached out to touch some of her tresses. Her hair was soft and smooth beneath his hand. He took another step forward, their fronts touching. Mr. Carson reached up and pushed his wife's hair to her back, gathering it all and entwining both hands in it at the base of her scalp.

Mrs. Carson closed her eyes. Her breath hitched as he massaged his hands deeper into her locks. The need she felt in the gentle but firm grasp of her husband engulfed her. He framed her face in his hands and lifted her face upward.

"Elsie, you need to breathe," he said, his timbre impossibly deep.

Mrs. Carson was grateful for his naturally commanding tone lest she faint not realizing she had been holding her breath. She gulped in one breath before doing her best to even out the rest.

"Are you feeling steady?" Mr. Carson asked.

Mrs. Carson opened her eyes slowly and said breathily, "Not really. But right now, I don't think I want to be."

The couple smiled at each other adoringly.

"Elsie," Mr. Carson started gently, "I know this may not be easy, and it may not even be pleasant-"

"Charles, it's all right."

"No, just let me say this," he said firmly. "I do want you. I'm sorry if that is vulgar to say, but I do want you Elsie."

"I am glad you do, Charles. So very glad," she replied with misty eyes.

"But also know that I would never want you to feel obligated. That is, whether we take the next step tonight or tomorrow or any moment from now, it will be at your affirmation. I will ask every night-"

"I don't know that either of us has the stamina for doing this every night," she teased.

"Every night that we make love," he said and smiled back. "I mean, our bed is not a place where I make demands of you. There is no crown here to make uneasy my head. You wear the crown; you accede the way forward. I am your servant here."

Mrs. Carson wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him closer to share a gentle kiss. Ever since they resolved the issue of consummating their marriage, she had a lot of time to adjust to the idea. The more she thought of Mr. Carson's proclamation of love, the tender kisses they took to sharing at night before they left her sitting room, and reading the book Anna lent her, it all seemed a bit less scary and more enticing. She wanted to know his touch. While he has taken to caressing her face, neck, and occasionally her waist, she was eager for him to explore other places; and now that they were married, there was nothing stopping them. But demands and subordination would play no part in it. _That was another life, our way forward will be different,_ she thought.

"No, Charles. There are no servants here, nor rulers. You are mine, and I am yours. Equals, in all things, especially this," she said with gentle sincerity.

Mr. Carson bent down and touched his forehead to his wife's. "I feel bad that this first time, I may hurt you."

Mrs. Carson smiled. "I know you do," she said simply.

"We'll take it slow."

"I wouldn't want you to rush."

"And you'll let me know if I should stop."

"I'm made of stern stuff, Charles, don't worry too much."

"But if I do something you dislike, you'll tell me won't you?" he asked hesitantly.

"When have you ever known me to be subtle?"

"I only mean, you'll tell me-"

"Charles?"

"Yes, Elsie."

Mrs. Carson's response was not one of words but action. She thrust herself upward and energetically kissed her husband. It was a long and breathless kiss. Mr. Carson moved one of his hands to his wife's waist, gasping at the feeling of the silk on her otherwise bare hip. Their kiss grew more heated as Mrs. Carson grasped her husband's neck and ran her other hand along his chest. Several moments later they released each other to panting breaths.

"Was that clear enough for you?" Mrs. Carson breathed out as she grabbed her husband's hand and led him to their bed.

Mr. Carson followed his wife and smiled as he joined. "I may be an old booby, but I think I get the hint."

There were kisses, caresses, and pants of pleasure. Nothing was hurried. Everything was gentle. And in true Carson fashion, tradition was upheld that night…and again in the morning.

-CE-

Mrs. Carson awoke to rays of sunshine filling her room. She felt pleasantly warm despite her husband's absence. She wondered how exhausted she must have been to not even feel him get out of bed. But then she thought about what they got up to last night, and this morning… _And this morning, wherever did he learn to do that,_ she wondered, thinking to a truly electrifying experience she shared with her man.

With a smile on her face, Mrs. Carson grabbed her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. She glanced at her husband's pocket watch on the chest of drawers and was shocked to see it was nearly ten o'clock. She went to the bathroom and found a few pins to put up her hair. She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't expect to look different after their escapades, but it did seem to show through. Well she certainly wasn't decent, what with the messy bun she made up and a certain glow about her. But then again her husband had seen her quite indecently already.

She went downstairs to the parlor and didn't see a sign of Mr. Carson. She turned to the kitchen with no luck. She went to the window to look out and noticed a flash of cream. There amongst the feral greenery of their overgrown garden was Mr. Carson trimming some of the wildflowers. She took a moment to admire him in the late morning sun, dressed casually in pale trousers, braces, with his sleeves rolled up. He was smiling and humming as he intently sought the best blooms in their yard. She was so very glad to see him so happy.

As if feeling her eyes on him, he stood up and met her gaze with a bright a smile. He made his way to the backdoor where she met him with a smile of her own. He stepped toward her and wrapped an arm around her waist and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Some wildflowers for my wild flower," he whispered in her ear, and presented her with the bouquet he gathered.

"Mr. Carson," she said with mock chastisement. "How very risqué."

"Only with you, my dear," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers and placing a searing kiss to her lips.

"Well, I guess I can't argue with that," she replied.

She moved to find something to put the flowers in while he went to the stove and stoked the fire, spreading some warmth in the room for his bride.

"I'm sorry I slept in so late," she said over her shoulder.

Mr. Carson smiled at his wife as she turned to put the flowers on the table. "I think you're allowed. It is our honeymoon after all," he replied with a smile.

Suddenly, there was a light rap at the backdoor followed by a muffled "Hello!" that could only belong to Downton's cook.

Mr. Carson went to answer the door. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Patmore," he said with a smile on his face.

"I come in peace," she said, hefting her basket up a bit. "I just wanted to bring you more food. I'm afraid we forgot to stock your ice box when we were bringing things over. I thought you both could use some more treats."

Mr. Carson gestured for the cook to enter. "Well, I'm glad you did. I thought Mrs. Carson and I would travel into town for more supplies later today, but this is a nice surprise."

Mrs. Patmore had been worried the butler would fling her out upon arrival after the mischief she and her gang got up to last night. She was surprised he was so welcoming. _Maybe his new bride cheered him up after we left. Well done, Mrs. Carson,_ she thought.

As she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore noticed a very untidy Mrs. Carson trying to wrap her robe tighter about herself. Mrs. Patmore went wide-eyed at seeing her friend so disheveled. "Well done, Mr. Carson," she mumbled.

"What's that?" the butler asked.

"Oh, the roast is well done…the roast that I brought…it's quite well done," she rambled. Then turning to her friend she smirked. "Had a bit of a lie in, Mrs. Carson?"

"Yes, well, it was a long day," Mrs. Carson answered, adjusting her robe again to make sure she was well covered up.

"Well, I don't want to interrupt you lovebirds. I just wanted to drop off that food. I'll be off," Mrs. Patmore said making her way to the door.

Mr. Carson stopped her. "Oh no, you should stay," he said, as he walked to his wife and laid a kiss to her hair. "I'll let you two chat for a minute. I forgot something in the yard," he continued, then made his way outside.

Mrs. Patmore noticed the soppy grin and glow about her friend. "You seem quite worn out, Mrs. Carson."

Remembering her company, Mrs. Carson straightened her face as best she could. "As I said, it was a long day."

"Or a long night," the cook said suggestively.

"You would know," Mrs. Carson said as she shot her friend a look. "I don't have to look far to find the leader in charge of all the hullabaloo under my window last night."

"You're not sore about that are you? I figured Mr. Carson'd bite my head off at the first sight of me, but he seems well enough. And something tells me you have something to do with his sunny disposition this morning," Mrs. Patmore said wiggling her eyebrows.

Mrs. Carson busied herself by putting the kettle on.

"Oh come on, Mrs. Carson, tell us then," the cook implored.

"Tell you what?" Mrs. Carson retorted.

"You know. How was it?"

"Beryl, you're out of your mind if you think I'd tell you anything about…that."

"Why not?" Mrs. Patmore whined. "I'm the one that had to get you both sorted. I think I deserve to at least know a little something."

Mrs. Carson noticed her husband quietly enter the kitchen. He put his finger to his lips, indicating she should not give him away.

"Oh, I suppose you do deserve a little something," Mrs. Carson said innocently addressing her friend while Mr. Carson continued to sneak up behind the cook. "Well, after you all clambered away, I had to calm him a bit," she continued.

"I bet he was in a right state," Mrs. Patmore said.

"Oh he was, a right state. But then I put a hand on his arm and we shared a kiss-"

"I dare say you shared a bit more than that."

"A bit more, yes," Mrs. Carson said coyly. "And we took things gentle and slow, and then-"

BANG! Mr. Carson hammered a pot and stick together right behind Mrs. Patmore's ear.

"Unh," Mrs. Patmore moaned and clutched her aching head as the noise mixed with her hangover.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mr. Carson said loudly. "Does that smart, Mrs. Patmore?"

"It does a bit," she said wincing.

"It's just that I found this in the garden and wanted to make sure it was returned to you properly. Since you seem to enjoy testing the dexterity of your cookware by banging it about, I thought I'd save you the trouble," Mr. Carson said in mock seriousness before giving the pot another clang.

Mrs. Carson bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew her husband was being wicked, but then again her friend deserved it.

Mrs. Patmore snatched the pot away from the butler before he thought to take another swing. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. It sounds like it's a very good pot," Mrs. Patmore said gruffly. She sauntered to the back door and said, "I'll leave you both now, just in case you get the thought to test anything else out, Mr. Carson."

"Well we do have a nice set of pots and pans the Dowager gifted us," Mrs. Carson suggested.

The couple shared a smile. Mr. Carson was pleased to have his wife's support on this spiteful endeavor.

"I was thinking more of the bed," Mrs. Patmore said quickly before ducking out the back door.

Mr. Carson growled and hustled to the door with the stick over his head.

"Charles!" Mrs. Carson called out, pulling him back.

"The cheek on her," he grumbled.

"It's just cheek. She doesn't mean anything by it. Although she certainly seems to know how to rile you up," Mrs. Carson said running her hands over her husband's arms, stroking away the stress.

Mr. Carson tossed the stick into the yard and turned to embrace his wife. "You seem to have a way of riling me up as well, Mrs. Carson."

"Well, I hope you like the way I rile you up better than, Beryl," she said with a smile.

"Oh much better. Incomparable," he assured her, pulling her close.

They shared a kiss and tender look as the kettle went off. Mrs. Carson moved tend to the tea while Mr. Carson rifled through the basket Mrs. Patmore brought over.

"Looks like we have some roast, potatoes, carrots…very hearty. Another bottle of claret from the wedding, and there's a note around it." Mr. Carson said, removing the missive and reading it.

Mrs. Carson brought the tea to the table. "What's it say?"

Mr. Carson handed the message to his wife with a raised eyebrow. She looked at him curiously then read aloud, "I think I am beginning to like this one more and more. Best Wishes, U.M."

Mrs. Carson chuckled.

"Who is U.M.?" Mr. Carson asked suspiciously.

"It's just Lady Mary."

"Do I dare ask what U.M. stands for?"

"It's probably best not, at least not today," she said, waving him off as she made his tea.

"You know I don't think I am aware of what turned Lady Mary around to the idea of doing the wedding your way. Care to enlighten me?"

"It won't be a habit for me to keep secrets from you," she replied as she sat down at the table with him, "but for this, I think I'll keep it between me and her."

Mr. Carson raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "The two of you are friends now? Seeing as she closed her letter so informally, that is."

"I don't know that we're friends…we're allies. We both care a great deal about you and we have put aside other things to be the best people we can be, for you and to you."

Mr. Carson smiled so fiercely his face hurt. The thought of his wife and Lady Mary existing amicably in his life brought him such joy. Mrs. Carson turned to her husband and smiled back. She knew this would please him, and to be honest it was a weight lifted from her chest as well. If she and Lady Mary were to share his heart, it's best they exist there on good terms or they might break it, and that would never do.

"Now," Mrs. Carson said looking at the feast before them, "what's say we get some food in us."

"I am famished," Mr. Carson said as his wife plated his food.

"I'm sure you are, Mr. Carson," she said as she handed him his plate. "You start on that while I go get dressed."

"Dressed? Why?" he questioned a bit disappointed.

"Charles, I can't eat lunch in a dressing gown and my hair a mess."

"It looks tidy enough to me, if that's what you're worried about," he said with a smile.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Carson. My mother is probably rolling over in her grave as it is, letting company see me like this."

Mr. Carson sighed and set down his knife and fork. "I'll wait for you then."

"Charles, don't be silly, you haven't eaten since last evening. I know you're starving, so you go ahead."

"No, I will wait for you. You waited for me, Elsie, so many times. For me to realize how much I love and need you. For me to come around from stubbornness on countless occasions. For me to ask you to marry me," Mr. Carson said firmly. "So, you go ahead and I'll wait."

Mrs. Carson's eyes were glistening with happy tears. "You know, Charles, one might think you were just trying to keep me out of my corset," she teased.

"That would be plotting, my dear, and we both know that is your forte," he replied with a smile.

Mrs. Carson wiped at a couple of tears that got away before sitting back down and serving herself. "All right, then," she said digging into her food with her husband following suit.

They ate their meal fervently, having had an early dinner yesterday and no breakfast. It was several minutes of clinking teacups and cutlery before Mrs. Carson spoke up.

"Charles?"

"Hmmm."

"You know I did wonder, from this morning..."

"Yes?

"Well, how did you know to do that thing you did?" she asked, remember their morning in bed.

"It wasn't difficult. I mean I just found it, amongst all the growth," he said matter-of-factly, taking another bite of potato.

Mrs. Carson's eyes went wide and she coughed inhaling a bit of roast the wrong way, "You just found it?" she squeaked.

"Well, it wasn't hard to miss. It sort of stuck out from the bush there," Mr. Carson replied continuing to eat.

"But how did you know what to do with it?" she asked, surprised at his use of such uncouth language.

"I just went with it. Why did you not like it?" he asked. "I thought by your cheeky grin you got a kick out of it."

"Oh I did, very much. I'm sure you could tell," she said blushing,

"That'll teach her a lesson, to be sure," Mr. Carson said triumphantly.

"What do you mean by that?" Mrs. Carson said affronted.

"Well, Mrs. Patmore's shenanigans with the pots and the rest, and then me sneaking up on her."

"Oh, you're talking about the thing with Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Carson said understanding coming over her.

"Of course the thing with, Mrs. Patmore. What are you talking about?" Mr. Carson asked puzzled.

A flustered Mrs. Carson only replied with a hum before taking a gulp of tea waiting for realization to dawn on her husband.

He was about to take another bite when it hit him. This morning, when he did the thing that booklet told him and made his wife come gloriously undone. "Oh," he said discomfited. He fumbled his fork and it clattered to his plate with the uneaten bit of roast still attached.

"I'm sorry. That was more than risqué for me to bring up," Mrs. Carson said as she blushed fiercely and bit her lip. "I've offended you."

Mr. Carson took his wife's hand and rubbed the top with his thumb. "I can assure you, the very last thing in the world that I am at this moment is offended," he said deeply and smiled.

"Still, this is a bit too awkward a conversation for the kitchen table," she admitted.

"Oh my dear, now that you are in fact Mrs. Carson in every sense of the word…" he said, bringing her hand to his lips and staring dotingly into his wife's eyes, her mirth and joy matching his. He kissed her hand and finished, "Between us, there are no more awkward conversations."

THE END

-CE-

 **A/N: This has been a great adventure for me and a way to stretch my writing muscles. Thank you all for your support and readership. I am so happy to enjoy this fandom with all of you. As always, Chelsie On!**


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